


The Vanished Pearls of Orlov

by Odessa_Moon



Series: The Steppes of Mars [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Class Differences, Colonization, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Mars, Romance, Science Fiction, Terraforming, no beta -- we die like writers, people attempting to be family and semi failing this is hilarious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 230,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22020619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odessa_Moon/pseuds/Odessa_Moon
Summary: Meet Yilanda Consuelo Margarita Ranaglia DelFino. Her nickname is Lannie, which is used by everyone besides her parents or her elders. Lannie has a problem: her father is forcing her into marriage to a much older, but very important and wealthy man.Albion has compelling reasons for doing so, but are they compelling enough for Lannie?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: The Steppes of Mars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1306754
Kudos: 3





	1. Meet Yilanda Consuelo Margarita Ranaglia DelFino

“I don’t care who he is! I will not marry that monster and that is final!” Lannie DelFino screamed. She was loud enough, she was happy to notice, that she set the dusty prisms on the chandelier tinkling, although her foot-stamping undoubtedly helped. Marble parquet floors made for good echoes as well as being cool underfoot in the heat.

“You will marry him. We need the money. Have you seen my gambling debts? Orlov has agreed to pay them off as your bride-price,” Albion DelFino retorted. Unfortunately, his only daughter, Yilanda, had never been the sweet, accommodating girl that her mother was. He sometimes wondered, in darker moments, if Yilanda was his daughter but he knew Constance. She would never cheat on her marriage vows although he felt no such compunctions.

“Why should I care?” Lannie snarled back. “They’re not my debts. You were the idiot, not me, betting on every stupid game that came along.”

Albion sighed deeply, brushing back a lock of his still jet-black hair from his high forehead. He caught a glimpse of himself in the enormous, ornate mirror gracing the reception room they were arguing in. His valet did an excellent job of covering the gray and he might tell him so in lieu of a raise. He was so good-looking and the mirror was large enough to reflect all of his glory. He loved this mirror which was one of the two reasons his particular branch of the family still owned it. The other reason was that it was far too large to sell without some officious relative noticing at once that it was gone.

“My dearest little daughter,” Albion said with a warm, creamy smile. “I’m not doing this for my benefit, although having my debts paid would be helpful. It’s actually your mother who truly concerns me.”

Lannie shut her mouth firmly on what she had been going to say.

“Oh?” she said instead. “What about mama?”

Albion sighed again, even deeper. “I don’t wish to distress you any further.”

Lannie chewed on her lip for a moment. Albion DelFino was probably lying, but even with a lifetime of experience of dealing with her father, she couldn’t tell. She studied her father for long moments, willing him to speak first so she’d have more information, information that might even be accurate. Fortunately, he was posing in front of the huge mirror so if he turned away, she’d still see at least some of his facial expressions reflected in it or its more accurate partner mirror on the opposing wall.

“I’m already distressed,” she settled on, since he was obstinately remaining silent. Speaking first meant he won the battle of wills but he could remain silent far longer than she could. He’d proved it often enough. “Please do continue.”

“Your dear mother wishes so much to see you happily wed and with the promise of grandchildren to come. You know she does.”

“Orlov won’t make me happy and he’s either sterile or genetically deficient,” Lannie snapped, back on safe ground.

“That is the fault of his previous wives,” Albion replied smoothly. “Genetically, you’re extremely far removed from him, unlike them. He is not sterile. The miscarriages prove it.”

“All right, Rastislav Orlov is not sterile. You are correct,” she replied smartly. “But he is genetically deficient because if he didn’t have bad genes, he’d have fathered at least one healthy baby by now. The man must be pushing fifty!”

“Which is why he needs you, my dear. You’re young and healthy, you have a sibling and many, many cousins. Since there are no problems with any of the DelFino or Ranaglia lines, he’ll be fertile with you.”

“That is a big ‘if’” Lannie said coldly. “As big as Phobos and Deimos combined. Now what about mama?”

Albion gazed nobly off into the middle distance, discreetly checking his stance in the mirror to ensure he looked his best and most trustworthy self. Its gold-framed partner on the other wall let him reposition his foot to best display himself, although that mirror’s glass suffered from a slight waviness making him look puffy around the middle. Damn, but he still looked good for his age.

“Your mother, well, she’s doing poorly,” he said after a suitable pause that he hoped would whet Lannie’s interest.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Albion spun to stare at his daughter in consternation. “You hadn’t? Yilanda, I am disappointed in you.” He tsked in disbelief, looked very sad. “Well, she does such a good job of hiding it. She doesn’t want you to fret yourself.”

Mama never lied, or at least, Lannie had never caught her mother in a lie. She had to lie sometimes. Everybody did because you couldn’t possibly tell the truth about a good friend looking like some high-caste courtesan in her newest, gaspingly expensive outfit from Montaines. Well, almost everybody did. She never could because nervous giggles gave her away.

“What is wrong with Mama?” she asked carefully, trying not to sound overly worried. This was a familiar game. Her father would detect any nervousness and tell her some absurd, wildly exaggerated lie in response. She couldn’t encourage him, while at the same time, she needed to listen carefully to be quick with a smart response, keeping him off balance.

“It’s nothing, really,” Albion said, striving for just the right crack in his voice. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

His efforts paid off, when he saw his daughter’s eyes widen. Yilanda just wouldn’t instantly believe him the way her mother did. She was a constant trial. Fortunately, long practice had provided the skills needed to handle his daughter along with knowing the correct moment to deploy them. He kept these skills in reserve, using them only when it was critical and so his dear daughter never suspected a thing.

She gritted her teeth. “You really have to give me more details. You’re not, despite being my own dearest father, reliable.”

“Yilanda! You wound me!” Albion clutched at his heart, pantomiming tragedy. He should have been on the stage. What a career he would have enjoyed. His name would be known everywhere on Mars.

“You look like some ridiculous actor,” Lannie said, “over-emoting like last week’s ham. I don’t believe there is one thing wrong with mama. You’re lying again, trying to get me to say yes to that lecherous beast.”

“He is the daimyo of Orlov, Yilanda. That means you would be the daimyah.” Albion winked at her. “I’d be the father-in-law of a daimyo. Your own dear mama would become the mother-in-law of a daimyo.”

“So. What.” Lannie turned to march out of the entry hall.

“Marrying Orlov doesn’t just mean my debts. It also means medical care for your mama.”

She stopped dead and turned back to face her father very, very slowly. This was a lie, it had to be, but she couldn’t be sure. It was true that mama never wanted to cause trouble for anyone. She was so self-effacing, she practically vanished rather than draw attention to herself. Mama would never tell anyone that she was ill. She needed you to notice on your own.

“All right. I’ll bite. How does Orlov paying your gambling debts affect mama’s medical care? Assuming she actually needs some.”

“Yilanda. Your lack of faith –”

“Wounds you. So you’ve said on numerous occasions. The debts?”

Albion assumed a more hangdog pose, underlaid with deep regrets.

“The family is not being helpful. You know we’re the black sheep of the DelFino family.”

“Because of you, daddy dearest,” Lannie said sweetly. “You’ve never contributed so much as a bent copper penny to the greater good of DelFino despite numerous opportunities. Other than marrying a Ranaglia, that is, and spending every penny of mama’s dowry from them.”

“I am not the only member of our line at fault,” Albion said, with a flash of genuine emotion.

“Yes, let’s not forget your own dear, worthless father wasting away upstairs.”

“Your grandfather –”

“Blazed the trail to perdition that you’ve skipped down your entire life.”

Albion tossed his head back, showing off his noble profile. “Enough of this squabble. You want the truth? Here it is. Your mother has been ill. We’re not sure with what. I’ve, yes, it is true, wasted money like some drunken, low-caste, day-laborer. I’ve done nothing to help the family in running the demesne or anything else. And now, I’m being punished for it by my own family, by your own relatives. They won’t help pay for treatment for Constance in Barsoom. They claim every word out of my mouth is a lie.”

“Because it so often has been,” Lannie snapped. “What does that have to do with Orlov?”

“He needs a young, fertile, well-connected bride. He’ll not only pay off my debts as your bride-price, but he’ll pay for your mother’s treatment in Barsoom.”

“I see,” Lannie said. “I’m going to ask plenty of questions, you know.”

“You do that, but don’t waste any time going about it. Your mother is not recovering on her own.”

“Is that why you’re making this big push? You know I can’t legally marry until my eighteenth birthday.”

“I am well-aware of that fact, as is Orlov,” Albion replied. “He wants and needs a legal marriage.”

“He just wants a child-bride,” Lannie said and stuck her tongue out in disgust. “Eeuw. This is all so creepy and vile. He should marry someone his own age.”

“He cannot. Rastislav Orlov has his own problems. He doesn’t have a son. He needs a male heir desperately if his own direct line is to retain control of Orlov so a bride of his own age won’t work. Thus, you, Yilanda. Young, healthy, at least twelve degrees of consanguinity apart from him, and yet still supremely well-connected as a daimyah should be.”

“With no dowry, because you blew through mama’s which should have been mine.”

“You are your own dowry, my dear.”

Lannie thought hard, pursing her lips in a manner that made her father think of future, unattractive wrinkles. “Wanting a child is all very well. I understand that. But why does he have to keep control of Orlov? Doesn’t the family choose the best candidate for daimyo like DelFino does?”

Albion snickered. “Not that bunch. They prefer primogeniture.”

She made a face, inviting more aging wrinkles. “That’s insane, you know. The oldest son of the daimyo is never the best choice. When the family votes, like we do, we can keep out bad candidates, like you.”

Albion sighed again. “Sniping at me does not help your mother.

“Does Charlton know any of this?” Yilanda asked suspiciously. Charlton, regrettably, appeared to be following in their father’s and grandfather’s tracks. Their father railed all the time about how disappointing and stupid her brother was.

“Your brother does. In fact, he’s the one who discovered that Orlov needed a healthy fertile bride so badly and acted as a go-between.” Albion smiled winningly. “Your dear brother is very concerned about not only your dear mama’s wellbeing, but also that of you, dearest and only daughter.”

“By arranging my marriage with a geezer who’ve I’ve never met? How is that thinking of me?” Lannie demanded.

Albion rolled his eyes. “Daimyah, Yilanda. You would become the daimyah of Orlov. Wealthy, well-connected, profitable Orlov who is far above whatever your normal prospects would be.”

“I am a DelFino,” Lannie shot back. “People beg our family for marriage partners.”

“Well, my dear,” Albion said carefully. “Delightful as you are, that hasn’t been happening in your case.”

“I’m underage, daddy dearest, and will be for a few more months. That may have something to do with it. I also haven’t settled on any particular skill needed to run a demesne. That matters too,” she snapped. “I wouldn’t expect any matchmakers paying attention to me for another year or two at best.”

“This is true,” Albion said, conceding her the point. Yilanda was always easier to manipulate if she thought she was getting her way. And she was correct.

“And, daddy dearest,” Lannie added in her sweetest voice, “there’s you. Your behavior makes me and Charlton look bad. Speaking of Charlton, why aren’t you trying to arrange a marriage for him? He’s more than of age, yet none of the DelFino matchmakers have taken him on. Is it because responsible parents don’t want your son for their daughter?”

Albion gave his most superior smile to Yilanda. “We’re getting off track. Your mama’s care should be your main concern and not your brother’s marriage prospects. Your marriage to Orlov will solve so many issues. Our line’s debts, your mama’s medical care, an outstanding match for you, and yes, even your brother will benefit. Orlov will provide a bride for Charlton, bringing our two families even closer together.”

“What, someone from Orlov couldn’t do better than Charlton?”

“Charlton Ranaglia DelFino,” Albion said coldly. “One of the four greatest families in the Four Hundred, the four families that control the lands around Barsoom. Our family. The one you were just bragging about. Orlov, while a power to the east, has yet to have entrée into our quad. He wants it. We’ll give it to him and become the important part of DelFino that we were always meant to be.”

“You are delusional, mama is not ill, and I won’t marry that man to pay your gambling debts,” Lannie replied just as coldly. “I want proof and not from you or Charlton.”

She spun on her heel and marched out of the reception room, heading towards her mother’s sitting room. At this time of day, Constance Ranaglia DelFino should be there and, if she was lucky, her father hadn’t had time to work on her mother.

Albion watched in cold amusement as his only daughter stomped out of the reception room. She would ferret out the truth and then she’d discover she didn’t have any choice. It wasn’t only Constance’s needs that would be satisfied, along with his own. The daimyo of DelFino, his own fourth cousin Zachary, had already approved the match just as he had wholeheartedly approved of Charlton marrying some lucky Orlov princess. Marrying into Orlov, distasteful as that family was, meant better access to the markets of the eastern half of the Hot Zone. Orlov had wealth beyond measure, and would be wealthier still with the better management of DelFino subtly applied.

Orlov owned the Pearls of Orlov, the most valuable set of jewelry on Mars by an enormous margin. The Pearls of Orlov were worth more than a demesne. They were priceless and his dear daughter would get to wear them. And, if DelFino finessed the new relationship with Orlov correctly, a portion of those priceless pearls might become the Pearls of DelFino. Albion smiled at the mirror. Not every Pearl would become the Pearls of DelFino. A few, not enough to be noticed, would find their way into his own pockets. He could make it happen. His daughter, after all would be the daimyah of Orlov so he would become the natural intermediary between the demesnes.


	2. Fenrick HighTower volunteers himself

“I’m the only choice you have left, dad,” Fenrick HighTower said icily. “Gerard’s getting married next week, Ethan broke his leg jumping that ditch like the fool he is, and everyone else in the family has got obligations of their own they can’t leave for months on end.”

His family still believed he was a sickly baby and that he couldn’t make this journey. He had to wonder, again, if they’d ever see him as something other than the runt of the litter.

“Not true, Fen,” his father Borvo replied wearily. “Gerard could travel to Barsoom with Jiying for a late honeymoon. There’s plenty of time if they take the train down.”

Fen sniffed. “And how are you going to pay for the train tickets? And the hotel in Barsoom? With Jiying’s dowry? The Chong family will have plenty to say about you wasting money that they intended to help all of HighTower as well as keeping their darling happy and comfortable. _We_ don’t have the money: all of _our_ money is in that bank draft to repay the assessment loans that _you_ borrowed. Remember that bill? The one we can’t ignore like we do the taxes?”

“You aren’t old enough,” his father replied, dismissing all those tedious reminders of his management errors.

“You went on walkabout when you were a month younger than I am now and that’s far more dangerous than riding the corridor to Barsoom. A gauchito could make this trip safely.”

Borvo HighTower stood abruptly and stomped across the chilly office towards the fireplace. It had been a cold winter and, although spring was finally dancing in, the drafty pile of stone that comprised the manor house was stubbornly refusing to warm up on its own. He poked at the fire, hoping to encourage some warmth and let him avoid sending his youngest son on a mission sure to kill him. There had to be _someone_ else available. Maybe one of the Hands could make the journey.

The fire spat out sparks and one of them spun itself through the air to land on the hearth rug, where it began burning itself a hole to add to all the other holes and threadbare spots.

Fen stepped forward and stomped out the shining fleck of heat. He could guess the direction in which his father was thinking.

“Riding the corridor is as safe as anything else I can do.” Fen said. “Somebody has to go to Barsoom with the bank draft, since otherwise they’ll claim they never received it, and somebody has to cast HighTower’s vote in the zemstvo. One of the Hands can’t do it. You know that. It has to be a member of the family.”

“Fenrick,” his father began. “Your mother –”

“Understands the necessity. She knows what happened to _her_ dowry. Riding the corridor is free, other than the time spent and time is something I’ve got and no one else in the family has. If I leave tomorrow.”

“Fen, I can’t let you do this.”

“You don’t have a choice, dad.” Fenrick met his father’s tired eyes. “There is no one else, not unless you want to borrow money from Aguillero or VanDenRooz.” Winzlow, the other member of their quad was even poorer. It would take them decades to recover from the disastrous Yellow Cough epidemic. If they ever did.

His father shoved the poker roughly into the embers, stirring up another cloud of sparks. “Not that. Never. They think little enough of us as it is.”

“You’re the daimyo. It’s your responsibility to make the hard decisions. What do you want to do?” Fen asked.

His father sighed. “Let me talk to your mother and my brother.”

“I already spoke with uncle Macon and he agrees. I’m it and I have to leave soon to make it down the corridor on time.”

Borvo ground the poker into the embers again, the only outlet he had for his fury. It wasn’t suicidal, sending his youngest son down the corridor to Barsoom alone, but it felt close. Even more irritating, his own mistakes and those of his predecessor made the journey necessary. Otherwise, he’d have gone down himself by train at the last minute.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Don’t die on the way down and don’t do anything risky or stupid that will slow you down. Once you’ve voted and dropped off the bank draft with that moneylender, then you can play the fool as much as you like.”

Fenrick hid his grin. “As if I would ever do anything risky or stupid. That would be Ethan, followed by the rest of the pack.”

His father looked him over. “That’s true enough so let me rephrase myself. Don’t waste your time hesitating and evaluating and working out the consequences and all that other folderol that you like. Act instead of sitting on your hands!”

“When it’s the right time, I do.” Fenrick wanted to roll his eyes. Everyone in his family leaped before they looked. He liked to check the landing site first, _before_ leaping over the cliff, and so his family thought him overly cautious. At least they didn’t think him a coward as well as the runt of the litter. He hoped.

* * *

That night, he began a letter to Theo VanDenRooz; his best friend, his foster brother at Aguillero, the closest person to him in the world. They hadn’t spoken in person since the previous fall; separated by distance and weather and unending duties.

_Dear Theo,_

_My dad agreed. I should say Borvo, the daimyo of HighTower, but you know who I mean._

_I’ll be riding the corridor down to Barsoom to cast HighTower’s vote in the zemstvo and drop off that damned bank draft. Why we don’t hold our regional zemstvo somewhere closer than Barsoom is beyond me. I’ll be heading south down the corridor from Robinsin to Purnell to let the weather warm up a bit, before turning westward and riding to the Pole to Pole corridor and thence all the way south to Barsoom._

_Dad insisted that two of the Hands go with me for the first leg, along with their crew. He’s got a pair of mares that he talked Remus Kenyatta into buying months ago that needed delivering (finally!) and we’ll be dropping off cages of pigeons for their Pigeon-Master and hauling back a cage of Kenyatta’s pigeons for us. After that, they’ll head back home to HighTower and I’ll be on my own._

_I plan to write regularly to you with my adventures, like I’ll be writing home. You won’t be able to write to me, of course, since I won’t be in any place long enough for a letter to catch up with me._

_My mother had the fool idea of me taking along cages of pigeons of my own so I could send her messages faster. Even my dad thought that was a fool idea. I’d have to take care of the pigeons, I’d need an extra horse to carry the cages, and while I might be able to tell the family some news faster, there’d be nothing they could do about it until I got home to HighTower a few months from now anyway._

_Letters are better. Paper doesn’t take up nearly as much space as a cage of pigeons, it doesn’t make any noise, it doesn’t have to eat, it doesn’t shit all over the place, and I can buy more paper if I run out. The only bad part about paper, unlike pigeons, is I can’t eat paper._

_I’ll be leaving a day from now._

_Wish me luck!_

_This will be the closest I ever come to walkabout and a grand adventure of my own, even though you can’t get tamer than the Pole to Pole corridor. Every meter of that corridor must be humming with traffic. The Martian Government must patrol it regularly near the free-cities and where they don’t, I’m positive the local daimyos patrol for bandits just like we do. I keep telling my mother I’ll be as safe as if I was riding to Robinsin and then to VanDenRooz. Madre Winter, they hand out water and mil-rats at the waystations to anyone who asks and they have mailboxes that get emptied regularly. They even let you sleep indoors! How easy is that? I’m still gonna bring my snares to stay in practice._

_Best wishes to you and your family_

_Your best friend in the world,_

_Fen_


	3. “I was delirious with fever so I wasn’t responsible for my actions.”

As soon as she was safely out of the reception room and out of earshot of her father, Lannie stopped stomping. She’d proved her point. She sank down onto a low divan, one of the few pieces of furniture left in this part of the house. It had once been a beautiful piece of furniture and its sleek, curved lines were still, despite being woefully out of fashion, very attractive. The upholstery was much less so; faded to drab, rotted by the sun wherever its rays could reach, motheaten where they didn’t, and colonized by terraformers in every crevice.

Would Albion have already gotten to her mother, persuading her to his point of view? Lannie loved her mother dearly, but as with her father, that didn’t make her blind to her mother’s faults. Constance Ranaglia DelFino hated confrontation even more than she hated making decisions and sticking to them. Whoever spoke to her last held the winning hand.

And was her mother ill? That was a very good question. Lannie caught herself absently petting the divan’s seat, sending up little puffs of dust and tiny feathers, escaping the confines of the ticking. One of the feathers caught the bit of breeze, wafted into her nose, and started a sneezing fit.

Once she’d recovered, Lannie considered her mother’s health more carefully. It was possible her mother had contracted a fungal illness. Many people did. The doctors kept discovering new variants. An enormous piece of the terraforming process on Mars consisted of specially engineered molds, fungi, algae, lichens, and mosses. As the atmosphere improved over the centuries, the original terraformers declined in vitality but their spores remained, even as the terraformers evolved into new varieties to cope with their new environment. They had been designed for that purpose and they fulfilled their destiny admirably.

If Constance was ill, she wouldn’t say so. Mama never did. Anything unpleasant made her mother smile beatifically and then change the subject to something sweeter. Behavior and appearance were better clues. When she tackled her mother, she’d have to look for sneezing, watery eyes, redness, and that characteristic ashy pallor.

Lannie frowned again. Or if her mother showed such signs, it could just be the pollen and the heat. She sneezed again. It would be a nice change to be cool, or even more unlikely, cold. The Hot Zone was just what its name implied: hot. All the time.

“Hey, little sissy,” a male voice intruded into her thoughts. “Wasting time again? Don’t you ever do anything useful?”

Lannie leaped to her feet. “I do more useful stuff for DelFino than _you_ ever do, Charlton. You’re just like daddy and granddad.”

“You say that like it’s bad, Lannie,” Charlton replied with a grin. “As it happens, I have been working hard to help you, me, and most especially mama while you’ve been lazing around.”

She eyed her brother warily. Charlton had a mean streak and he never did anything he didn’t want to. He also lied, but not nearly as well or as often as their father did. It was like daddy was on stage all the time, simulating emotion and faking sincerity to elicit just the right response from the audience. Regretfully, neither her or Charlton enjoyed anywhere near the level of acting talent daddy did. Even more regretfully, she couldn’t lie even as well as Charlton could. It would have been useful.

“I spoke with daddy,” she said carefully. “He said mama was sick. Do you know anything? This was the first I’d heard of it.”

“Gleesh, Lannie,” Charlton scoffed. “You didn’t notice? Mama’s been snuffling and wheezing for days now.” He sneered down at her from his superior height and he wasn’t tall for a DelFino. “You always make such a big deal about wanting the best for mama and you can’t pay attention when she’s ill?”

“No, I didn’t notice,” Lannie shot back. “She didn’t look sick to me, the last time I saw her.”

“And when was that?”

“This morning!”

“Well, I’ll admit she does better in the morning, especially since it rained last night. Cleared the air, you know?” Charlton said.

Lannie frowned. Was it possible that their father hadn’t lied? She sat back down on the divan, sending up more puffs of dust and tiny bits of down, making her and Charlton sneeze. She studied the far wall, rather than look at her brother’s thuggish profile, counting the bare spots where art used to hang. There wasn’t much left for their father to sell, without the rest of the DelFino family noticing and objecting when they invaded the house for an inspection, something they did on a regular basis. It was a good thing mama was an artist, devoted to her complex and intricate embroidered designs. All those needlework flower portraits filled the bare spaces nicely. She cast her eyes over at the glass cabinet next to the divan. It was no longer crammed with china knickknacks, but there were still plenty, concealing the absence of more valuable ornaments.

“That’s true,” she admitted. “Rain does clear the air.”

“Mama doesn’t like talking about being sick. You know she doesn’t,” Charlton said. “Remember when I had pneumonia last year? She told everyone I had a touch of a cold!”

“Oh yeah,” Lannie said, rolling her eyes. “Of course, you wouldn’t have gotten pneumonia if you hadn’t been out roistering in the bars of Barsoom during a monsoon.”

“You are such a stick-in-the-mud, Lannie. Can’t a guy have some fun?”

Lannie served her brother her most superior smile. “Daddy had to post bail to spring you from police custody, the daimyo was livid, the rest of the family was furious, you got alcohol poisoning, every gossip column in the Hot Zone ran a lewd story about what you did to get arrested, then you got pneumonia, and then you kept trying to shove your hands down the nurse’s uniform, causing the Medical Union to refuse to set foot in the Barsoom townhouse while they marched around outside picketing!”

“I was delirious with fever.”

“No, you weren’t. You were being a cad. You claim you model your behavior after daddy and _he_ would never do such a thing. Daddy is many things but he is never a cad.”

Charlton frowned at his sister. “True, true. But I was delirious with fever so I wasn’t responsible for my actions.”

“You’re never responsible for your actions.”

“Yes, I am, and I’ve been responsible for mama, for me, and for you even though you don’t deserve it. I snagged you a husband and not just any husband. You’re going to be the daimyah of Orlov and wear those fabulous pearls and be rich forever.”

“I am not becoming that lecherous geezer’s fourth wife,” Lannie spat and jumped back to her feet to pace back and forth.

Her brother slumped back on the divan, releasing another puff of dust motes and tiny feathers. He began rubbing his temples against the headache roaring through.

“You don’t get a choice,” Charlton said despairingly. “We need the money. Dad’s got debts, mama needs medical care, the daimyo approves, and I’ll be marrying too. There’s an Orlov girl of marriageable age. I’m meeting her in a few m0nths.”

Lannie glared at her brother. “That poor girl! Is she that desperate or that homely that she’s willing to marry a bounder like you?”

Charlton leaped back to his feet and strode over to his sister. He grabbed her upper arm, compressing her flesh with his fingers, meaning to leave a bruise.

Lannie, not surprised, kicked Charlton viciously. She scored a direct hit to his knee, making him let go with a yelp of pain.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” she hissed.

“Then quit working so hard to piss me off.”

Charlton took a deliberate step away from his sister, and then another, leaving plenty of space between them. He was breathing hard and his face dark with anger. He forcibly unclenched his fists.

“I know we don’t always get along,” he said carefully. “If we weren’t siblings, we’d never speak to each other if we didn’t have to, not even to pass the damn salt. Mama needs this deal, so you are marrying Orlov. I don’t like _you_ , but I love _her_ , and I’ll do whatever I have to do to get her taken care of. Understand me?”

“I love mama too,” Lannie said. “But you’re not making the sacrifice _I_ would have to.” She shuddered theatrically.

Charlton laughed sourly. “I’ve no idea who this Orlov girl is or what she’s like. She could be an ugly harpy like you which is why she’s desperate enough to marry me. But I’m marrying her anyway if it means Orlov pays off dad’s debt and gets mama her care. It’s not like I’ve got better prospects, becoming top-tier like you’re going to. _You’ll_ become the daimyah without having to wait thirty years for your husband to claw his way to the top.”

Lannie sighed gustily because it kept her from rolling her eyes, a behavior her brother openly detested. There was no reason – right now – to fight with him over the subject of facial expressions.

“Charlton, I don’t like you either. But you’re not stupid. When it suits you, you aren’t lazy, either. When you want something, you go after it and work until you get it. You could be a much more important, valuable part of DelFino than you are.”

Charlton stared at his sister in disbelief and then mimed spitting onto the floor near the hem of her skirt. “You really are daft. Everyone looks at me and they see dad and granddad. That’s all they see and that’s all they’ll ever see.”

“You can do better, Charlton,” Lannie replied softly. “I try every day to not be like him.”

“Lannie, you don’t get it.” Charlton rolled his eyes over his sister’s obtuseness until they looked like they would fall out of his head.

It took real effort for Lannie to not mime gagging onto the floor at the image and make Charlton even angrier. She forced herself to sit still and listen.

“You can marry out and escape DelFino,” Charlton said. “I can’t. I’m stuck here. Marry Orlov, sissy. We all need this because the rest of DelFino will let mama die rather than work with dad or me. Damn them all.” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, leaving Lannie uncharacteristically speechless at her brother’s rigid back.

She began pacing the room, thinking over what Charlton had revealed. He was unhappy too. She had always thought her brother enjoyed being a wastrel and didn’t care one whit what the rest of the family thought. It seemed that he did, although, she thought critically, not enough to change how he behaved. Had he tried and been rejected? No, he hadn’t tried. That would be just like Charlton; to sob and moan and carry on without doing anything to make his life better. Effort wasn’t Charlton’s middle name. Neither was self-awareness.

This was getting her nowhere. She had to ask mama.

* * *

Constance Ranaglia DelFino sat at her embroidery in the sunniest corner of the sunniest room of the house. She called it, grandly, her solarium. Actually, the room was just better lit than most because of its orientation. The windows weren’t any bigger here than they were elsewhere, the tightly pulled back drapes proving it. Since her sitting room was on the top floor, it also wasn’t shaded out by the lacy trees surrounding the manor house and providing welcome shade to the lower levels.

The sun pouring in showed off her still golden hair, now shot with silver. Her emerald hands nimbly worked the needle threaded with crimson floss through the canvas. She was working on a red, red rose; one in a series of portraits of roses that hung all over the house, filling the spaces of art that had been sold. She’d previously embroidered series of moonflowers, lilies, and protea, as well as hosts of mixed bouquets. The roses, because of their multiple petals, were a challenge.

“It’s a beautiful rose, mama,” Lannie said, looking for an easy way to start the conversation. “I see you’ve shaded the petals from crimson to deep purple at the very edges.”

“You noticed, dear girl!” Constance replied with a pleased smile. “This rose seemed to need something more, so I found this beautiful purple floss and look what I made.”

“Beautiful,” Lannie said again. “You could have been a member of the embroiderer’s guild.” Mama could have too; her flowers were both botanically correct and the most artistic Lannie had ever seen. Everyone who saw Constance’s flowers admired them. She painted with thread the way other people painted with oils.

“Oh Yilanda, I could never do that. If I _had_ to embroider, it wouldn’t be fun.”

This was the opening she’d been looking for.

“That is so true, mama,” Lannie said, smiling. “I hate doing things I don’t want to do, too. Did you know daddy wants me to marry Rastislav Orlov? He’s awful, ancient, and I won’t do it.”

Her mother laid her piece of canvas across her lap, the bronze heart of the rose partially showing, partially concealed by its dozens of petals.

“Now, my dear. Let’s not be hasty. Rastislav is the daimyo. You’d become the daimyah of Orlov and wear those luscious pearls at parties.”

“Mama. I’ve never even met the man and he’s older than daddy. That’s creepy.”

“He’s the daimyo, dear. Daimyos are never creepy. They’re distinguished, worldly, talented gentlemen who lead their families and their demesnes into better futures,” Constance replied, smiling beatifically at her daughter. “You are the luckiest girl in DelFino to have Orlov want you.”

“He’s never even seen me!”

“He doesn’t have to, sweetest,” Constance replied. “You’re my daughter and since I was known across the Four Hundred as a beauty and your own dear father is the handsomest man in the Hot Zone, Orlov knows you’ll be spectacular.”

Lannie opened her mouth in disbelief, then shut it carefully. She was pretty enough, but not the stunning beauty her mother was reported to have been, and still was, in soft lighting.

“That’s really so sweet of you, mama,” she managed to say. “Especially since I don’t have your perfect emerald complexion.”

“That golden tinge to your skin makes you _glow_ , Yilanda,” Constance replied. “It’s so attractive. You’ll set those luscious, creamy pearls off to perfection.”

“Um ...”

Her mother coughed daintily, flushed, and then coughed harder.

“Mama?” Lannie asked, suddenly concerned. Marrying Orlov was no longer the main subject occupying her mind.

Her mother kept coughing, then managed to gasp, “water, sweetheart.”

Lannie ran across the room to the pitcher of ice water on the side-table, the crystal sweating in the heat. She poured a glass with shaking hands and trotted back to her mother. She had to hold the glass so her mother could more easily take some sips of water, calming her throat.

“That’s better,” Constance said at last. “Do you think, sweetest, that you could get me some tisane from the kitchen? Cook has been making me a special herb mixture and it helps keep my throat soothed.”

“Of course, mama,” Lannie said. “Have you been ill?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, sweetheart,” Constance said. “Of course not. I got a bit of dust down my throat.”

Lannie eyed her mother, noting the slight ashy pallor of her mother’s cheeks and how her hand trembled ever so slightly.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes, of course I’m sure,” Constance replied. “I never get ill. You know that.”

“Then why does Cook need to make a special herb mixture for your throat?” Lannie asked suspiciously.

Constance gazed at her daughter for a long, long moment. Lannie willed her to speak and was at last rewarded.

“It’s the heat. Do you think I should add a touch of bronze to the petals on this rose? I’m planning on a dark bronzy-green for the leaves and a darker green edged with black for the stems and thorns.” Her mother beamed at her again and held up her embroidery for inspection.

Lannie sank down into the chair opposite her mother. It might actually be possible that her father hadn’t lied to her. Mama might be ill and if she truly was, Charlton was right too. The rest of the DelFino family wouldn’t be helpful. Not when Albion and his father before him had made sure no one else in the family would ever believe a member of their line was ill and not faking as a ploy for money.

Worse, how had she not noticed and Charlton had?

“Has Cook been making you this tisane for long?” Lannie asked. She needed facts desperately. She rose to study her mother’s face and posture more carefully.

Constance frowned prettily, biting on her full lower lip and looking pensive. She brightened when the answer came. “A few weeks now, I think.”

“Oh.” How could she have been so obtuse?

“Your dear father has been most solicitous. He’s always checking to be sure I have my special tisane.”

“That’s very, um, conscientious of him,” Lannie said.

“Yes, your dear father is the best of husbands,” her mother replied. She smiled up at her hovering daughter. “I am so lucky to be married to Albion. I know Orlov will be just as wonderful to you.”

“Sure he will,” Lannie said. “Let me get you that tisane right away.”

* * *

Cook was always surly, having to make do with limited ingredients on a limited budget while still serving the entire household as a DelFino household should be. Lannie stopped in front of the swinging doors leading to her steaming domain, gauging the volume level of banging pots, swearing at overworked underlings, and the thwack of a cleaver before stepping inside. She never approached Cook when Cook grasped a cleaver in one meaty fist.

Charlton had once gone stomping into the kitchens, said something irritating, and then narrowly missed having his head split open with the thrown cleaver. The gouged wood beside the swinging door had never been repaired. The thrown cleaver missed Lannie too, standing right behind Charlton, but it left a deep impression on her mind.

Since that memorable incident, one of the few points of cooperation between brother and sister was that if he wanted something from the kitchens, he begged Lannie to get it for him. She’d bargain for payment and then comply if he made it worth her while. Charlton always honored those agreements.

Albion DelFino had laughed when they told him about it and said they had gotten a cheap lesson in never aggravating a person with an edged weapon in their hand. Mama had said they must be grossly exaggerating because Cook was sweetness itself. Which Cook was, but only with mama.

The level of noise was low; the usual bustle and hum of a kitchen feeding a family and its servants three times a day plus tea. Safe enough, at least for now.

Lannie rapped smartly at the swinging door, to alert anyone on the other side that she was coming through. That had been another lesson. Getting iced soup spilled all over herself had only happened once.

“What is it! I’m busy!” Cook screamed back at once. The rest of the kitchen went deadly silent. Even the pans stopped rattling.

“It’s Miss Yilanda, if you please, Cook,” Lannie called back. “Mama had a coughing fit and would like me to bring her the special tisane you brew for her.” It was safest to provide a detailed and complete request prior to passing through the swinging doors. That way, if the answer was no, she could make a fast getaway.

She waited, bouncing from one foot to the other, for admittance.

“All right! Get in here and make it quick!”

“Thank you, Cook,” Lannie called through the door and stepped through.

The kitchen was filled with odors, steam, and heaps of vegetables waiting to be scrubbed along with a brace of skinned rabbits, hanging by their back feet and bleeding out into a trough. So that was dinner again. Cheap, readily available rabbit, really suitable only for peasants. Charlton hated rabbit. Should she warn him or should she use it to tease him, pretending something special like roast lamb would be served?

“You wanted something for Miss Constance? Then why are you standing there like a dummy!” Cook screamed and hefted the cleaver.

“My deepest apologies, Cook,” Lannie answered at once, smiling her most placating smile. “I was distracted. I love rabbit for supper and you prepare the very best rabbit ever.”

Cook glared at her, while her minions behind her focused attentively on peeling yams, onions, mushrooms and crabapples to accompany the rabbit while listening avidly for gossip to pass along. Their hands never went still. They didn’t dare.

“All right then,” Cook said, mollified. She opened a tin box, pulled out a sachet, and dumped it into a porcelain cup, followed by pouring boiling water from the ever-ready tea kettle. Within seconds, the scent of mint and citrus filled the air, fighting with the other odors flooding the kitchen.

Lannie stepped cautiously forward, spotted a convenient tray, picked it up and held it out for Cook. That worthy woman ceremoniously deposited the cup onto the tray and added a linen napkin from the basket held out by one of the scullery maids.

Lannie hesitated. Cook would know. She seemed calm enough today.

“If you’re waiting for a cookie, you won’t get one.”

“Oh, no, Cook,” Lannie replied promptly. “I shouldn’t want to spoil my appetite for dinner.”

“You’d better not.”

Cook started to turn away, dismissing her, when Lannie bravely said, “I want to thank you for making the tisane for mama. May I ask what’s in it? She says it’s so helpful.”

Cook turned back, her heavy eyebrows scrunched together and a fresh frown on her sweat-mottled face. “Something your father got the village apothecary to make up. Ask him.”

“Thank you, Cook,” Lannie said and fled the kitchen.

Once safely on the other side of the swinging doors, she paused to think. So, Cook didn’t know. That seemed strange since Cook grew an extensive array of herbs for the household. Perhaps mama really was ill, for daddy to visit the apothecary in the village and purchase herbs for tisane. She sniffed the mahogany colored brew, drawing the scent deep into her lungs and started to cough. Lannie quickly set the tray down so she could cough without spilling mama’s tisane. Gracious but that was a strong scent. Eyewatering, too. She blinked her eyes clear and wrinkled her nose. Mint, other herbs, limon leaves most likely from the citrus-y scent, and something else that didn’t smell as nice underlaying it all.

She could ask daddy, but he probably wouldn’t know. Albion DelFino wouldn’t bother his handsome head over what the apothecary put into the tisane sachets, only that they worked and he’d been able to run a tab.

Charlton wouldn’t know either and mama wouldn’t bother. Maybe mama really was ill. Daddy hadn’t been lying.

Lannie walked slowly back to the solarium, thinking hard and trying not to smell the tisane. Its undertone was nasty, and probably why it worked so well for mama. Medicine always tasted nasty. That’s how you knew it was good for you. However, this tisane didn’t smell anywhere near as foul as the anti-fungal brew that one of the DelFino uncles had been drinking for his own ailment. The fumes from that oily liquid could clear a room all by themselves. That medicinal tea had worked too. Uncle Nunzio had gotten better and today, you’d never know he had nearly died from a fungal infection.

How sick was mama? She was sick; that seemed to be true. And Charlton was right. The rest of DelFino wouldn’t be helpful. The bridges to the family that granddad hadn’t burned had been torched by his son, Albion.

Daddy just didn’t want to work for the betterment of DelFino. He was lazy. He was unreliable. He was vain. He refused to properly manage any part of his corner of DelFino from the village attached to the manor house crumbling around them to the surrounding fields, pastures, orchards, and roads.

Daddy had his good points. He could charm birds out of trees, when he set his mind to it. He spun the most wonderful, outrageous stories that made anyone listening laugh until their sides ached. He could be enormous fun, as long as he was the center of attention. He excelled at amateur theatricals, the only true skill he enjoyed, other than being a professional party guest. No dinner party was complete without Albion DelFino bringing it to sparkling life and ensuring everyone talked about how much fun it had been for weeks afterwards.

It was a real pity that Albion hadn’t fled the family for a career on the stage. He and everyone else in DelFino would have been much happier.

Lannie, during her better moments, could see why her mother had fallen for her father. The only surprise was that Albion had remained true to Constance. He seemed the type to cheat constantly, yet he never did.

She sniffed the tisane again, more carefully, wrinkling her nose at the odor. Was this medicine strong enough to treat mama, curing whatever ailed her? Or was it only strong enough to keep her stable? Mama needed a doctor, not just whatever tisane the village apothecary brewed up from medicinal herbs she grew behind her shop. Charlton was right. The rest of the DelFino family wouldn’t be helpful. They’d believe that Albion was lying about mama’s health to scam coin from them and they’d be right to do so. He had done so in the past. He wasn’t trustworthy.

She set the tray down on a table with shaking hands.

Charlton might be right about the rest of his statement too. She’d have to marry Rastislav Orlov, not to pay off daddy’s gambling debts, but to get medical care for mama. And even if Orlov refused to pay, as the daimyah, she’d have a substantial allowance of her own. The DelFino lawyers would make sure to include that clause in the marriage contracts. She could pay for her mother’s medical treatment herself, even in Barsoom at the Great Hospital where diseases were cured that were untreatable everywhere else on Mars.

But only if she married Rastislav Orlov.


	4. “I have no son! I have no heir!”

“Cousin,” Ljubo began carefully. “This is madness, even for you.”

Rastislav Orlov slammed his tankard down on the heavy table, jarring it and shaking the fine china and crystal scattered about on its surface. More than one piece bore signs of someone’s rage, with repaired cracks and carefully sanded out chips. The polished table likewise was adorned with scorch marks and stains, although the mended linen tablecloth concealed the damage.

“How is it mad to want an heir? I have _none_ ,” he snarled.

“Orlov has many suitable candidates as daimyo,” Ljubo said with even more caution, “for afterwards, when you pass onto your reward. It isn’t necessary for you to marry again.”

“You have two sons. What do you know of what is necessary? I have no son! I have no heir!”

“Think, Rastislav. DelFino will expect much in return. They won’t allow any precious daughter of their household marry where they don’t have access to our books, our business deals, and our holdings. Do you want them to know the truth?”

“They won’t find out. They know nothing of our situation and that will not change.” Rastislav belched heartily.

Ljubo steepled his fingers to keep them safely occupied and in full view. Rastislav was lightning fast and still strong, despite his gut and heavy drinking. The daimyo’s increasing paranoia kept him nervously watching where someone’s hands were; he preferred them out in the open and not holding a weapon under the table.

“DelFino will find out when they start negotiating the marriage contracts. And there is this: You can’t guarantee a son. No one can. You could just as easily sire daughters.”

“This girl is young and healthy.”

“You are not thinking clearly, Rastislav,” Ljubo said. “Her age has nothing to do with whether or not she’ll throw sons instead of useless girls. That still-born child of your second wife was a girl.”

“If you insist on marrying again, choose a merchant’s daughter. They have fat dowries,” Jerold slurred from his position across the table. “The money would be useful.”

“Shut up, Jerold. I want better access to the Four Hundred. Orlov needs it and I deserve it,” Rastislav growled. “I am the daimyo. I will not marry another stupid merchant’s daughter. I want an aristocrat spreading her legs for me and I want one from one of the great families.”

He reared himself up from the table, knocking over a wineglass. The red wine spilled out onto the tablecloth, staining it like spilled blood. The ghosts of many stains adorned the tablecloth; souvenirs of other, drunken discussions.

“Ljubo, Jerold, both of you know nothing. No matter what the family says, you are bad advisors. Orlov needs better access to Barsoom and its markets. DelFino has contacts across Mars. I need another wife. This DelFino girl will fill every need.”

“I notice you did not say ‘dowry,’ cousin,” Jerold said, pronouncing his words with exaggerated care. He hiccupped. “Is the DelFino name supposed to be all we get for this girl? If it is, Orlov loses.”

“Access to DelFino’s markets is dowry enough,” Rastislav said. He turned his back on his cousins, knowing he could watch them in the mirror.

“No, it isn’t and the family will agree,” Ljubo said, glancing quickly sideways at Jerold. He could see the mirror too, along with Rastislav’s sly, scowling face filling it.

“We need cash,” Jerold said, correctly interpreting his cousin’s hint. “Satisfy your lusts with peasant girls. Those girls are free. Orlov cannot afford another divorce.”

“I won’t divorce this girl,” Rastislav said coldly.

“You’ll beat her to death instead?” Ljubo barked. “DelFino will have plenty to say to us if you kill a wife from their family. And unlike that merchant whining over his dead daughter, they will have the backing of the Four Hundred!”

“DelFino might not care what happens to this daughter of their household,” Rastislav said. He smiled lazily, showing all the warmth of one of the great snakes that lurked in the jungles deep inside Orlov’s demesne.

Ljubo and Jerold exchanged quick glances again.

“If they don’t care, then why should they allow us access to their markets? To their business dealings with Barsoom? To their contacts across Mars? This girl has no value if DelFino doesn’t back her,” Ljubo said. He sneezed and blew his nose on the tablecloth.

“They’ll back her.” Rastislav bared his teeth and a sly look came into his jet-black eyes. “They think they will get access to the Pearls.”

The other two men sat back, uneasy and frowning.

“Risky, cousin, very risky,” Jerold pronounced.

“I agree. Too much risk,” Ljubo added. “Find some pretty peasant girl. We have many on our lands.”

Rastislav spun around to glare at them. “This girl is the daughter of Constance Ranaglia. She’ll be gorgeous like her mother was, and after that yellow-faced bitch, I want a fresh young beauty.” He paused and leered. “I saw Constance once and I still remember her loveliness. I didn’t get her, but I’ll get her daughter.”

Ljubo and Jerold exchanged wary glances again. Neither man was nearly as drunk as Rastislav was. They had both learned long ago it was impossible to keep up with the daimyo and, indeed, quite useful not to. They could still think when he could not. Even better, staying sober while pretending drunkenness made it easier to manage Rastislav. He didn’t always remember what he agreed to in the morning.

“Your tankard is empty. I’ll get you another drink, Rastislav,” Jerold said. He pushed himself out of his chair and lurched over to the side table. He picked up a fresh decanter and carried it over towards the daimyo with showy care. “You could be right. Tell us more about this DelFino girl.”

* * *

Rastislav staggered off to bed, leaving Jerold and Ljubo snoring, sprawled in their easy chairs. They were idiots, thinking they could drink him under the table.

When the door slammed closed, rattling the glasses on the table, Jerold lifted his head and yawned ostentatiously. Ljubo followed suit a few minutes later. They sat there, disheveled and blinking for another fifteen minutes, listening to the large grandfather clock tick away more slivers of their lives. The clock chimed the half-hour.

“Hellfire and damnation,” Jerold said when the chimes died away. “I thought he’d never leave.” He lurched to his feet, poured himself a glass of water and began nibbling on sliced ham, retrieving it from its covered dish on the sideboard.

“A DelFino girl,” Ljubo said thoughtfully. “The sot isn’t wrong about her being useful.” He accepted a glass of water from his cousin and swished it around his mouth, rinsing out the sour taste of indifferent wine, and spat it out into the porcelain bowl provided in every room of Orlov castle for just such occasions.

“Useful, yes, but risky, cousin,” Jerold said. “Eat something. Absorb that alcohol so you can think better. DelFino will insist on ironclad marriage contracts. They’ll insist we open our books. They normally look much higher than Orlov for marriages for their girls.”

“Orlov has the Pearls. No other demesne does. The sot wasn’t wrong about them wanting the Pearls, either.”

“Even so, there must be something wrong with this girl for DelFino to let her go to us. We have the Pearls, true enough, but that’s all we have,” Jerold shot back. “We’re mortgaged to the hilt.”

“Damn Rastislav and his father and his grandfather,” Ljubo said wearily. “No other demesne would accept such purblind drunkards as their daimyos. We just had to be traditional, letting the eldest son of the eldest son rule and look what it’s gotten us. We’re bankrupt, ill-managed, and heading towards disaster.”

“I know. Either of us could do a better job than Rastislav,” Jerold said. He heaved a sigh, then belched and gagged over the backwash. He hastily drank more water. “Hellation. A donkey could do a better job. Did you know he sold another pearl?”

Ljubo whipped around to better see his cousin and regretted it when the room spun around him. He’d been careful and yet had still drunk too much, trying to mask his contempt for the daimyo.

Jerold recognized Ljubo’s expression and thoughtfully waited until the queasy look passed.

“Again? Another? From which part of the Pearls? Do you know?” Ljubo asked when his head stopped spinning.

“The long, tasseled brooch; the one that looks like a cluster of grapes with the diamond pavé leafy vine twining around it and the jade leaves,” Jerold replied. He nibbled on more ham, hoping to settle his stomach.

Ljubo frowned and chewed on his thumbnail. “At least a missing pearl won’t show. The cluster will still look full. No daimyah has worn that particular part of the Pearls in a few years so it might not be noticed anyway.”

Jerold laughed harshly, then pointed to the huge portrait glaring down at the two of them. The Green Room had traditionally been used only by the men of the Orlov family and was comfortably furnished with a big table for cards, plush couches to sprawl on, cozy easy chairs to sleep in, well-stocked bookcases to ignore, cabinets holding an array of wines and liquors and the glassware needed to drink them, a thick carpet patterned to hide stains and deaden sound. The only uncomfortable part of the room was the larger than life portrait of the first daimyah of Orlov, dominating her wall and the room, the entire castle and its expansive gardens, and every member of the family, breathing or not.

Madame Orlov glowered over the spacious room, perpetually disapproving of how the family had degraded over the generations, while wearing the Pearls of Orlov. Her painted image was adorned with every last one of them; the complete set as it had been when first carried to Mars from Olde Earthe. Since the day her portrait had been painted, the Pearls of Orlov had declined, bit by bit, in number. A pearl here, a pearl there, sold to pay some pressing debt. Frequently the pearls were replaced with exquisitely made false pearls, but not always. Any jeweler on Mars, if he studied the portrait and then saw the Pearls, would know at once how many pearls had been sold and not replaced. A closer examination of the Pearls of Orlov would reveal how many of the Pearls had been carefully removed and replaced with fakes. Only Orlov’s own jeweler, a vital and closely held family position, knew for sure.

The Orlov family had been careful over the years. They only sold pearls from the lesser pieces of the enormous set and only from the back or from clusters where a missing pearl wouldn’t be noticed. The long, long strings of pearls that draped the lucky wearer were likewise easy to shorten here and there. The vast majority of the Pearls of Orlov remained; as lustrous and gorgeous as the day they made the long journey across the solar system from the oceans of Olde Earthe to Mars. They were the glamorous foundation of the Orlov family’s wealth, the surety backing every loan, the envy and desire of everyone who saw them.

“As long as no one compares them to _her_ portrait,” Jerold said. “Do you think DelFino will ask for an inventory as part of the marriage contracts? They don’t know much about us and they won’t be stupid enough to miss their opportunity to find out.”

Ljubo stared at the old woman in the portrait, then turned away from her bitter disdain. “ _She_ would not have permitted Rastislav to become the daimyo. Not _her_. He may be her direct descendent, but _she_ would not tolerate his incompetence.”

Jerold sniffed. “But _she’s_ not here, is she. Madame Orlov’s moldering in her grave and has been for generations. It was _her_ idea that the daimyo’s position be held by the oldest son of the oldest son. And so here we are, stuck with Rastislav.”

The door opened, making both men jump guiltily.

“Your pardon, my lords,” the servant said. He carefully kept his eyes on the floor. “My lord the daimyo has retired and I thought I would begin cleaning the Green Room.”

Jerold wobbled to his feet and staggered to the window, yanking the heavy, deep green velvet drapes back. The sky was no longer inky black, splattered with stars. The earliest pale fingers of dawn were lighting it around the edges, tinging the horizon with gray and a harbinger of the day to come.

“Yesh,” he slurred. “You do that. I’m for bed. Coming, Ljubo?”

Ljubo caught Jerold’s glance and likewise stumbled to his feet. He listed across the carpet towards the door. “A fine idea,” he mumbled and yawned loudly and widely. That, at least, wasn’t an act.

As the two men listed towards the doorway, Ljubo reeled into his cousin and whispered, “when you wake, let’s walk the gardens.”

“Agreed,” Jerold whispered back. They had their spies among the servants, but so did Rastislav.

The servant watched them go, eyes fixed firmly on a stain in the carpet, while wishing someone, anyone in the Orlov family would take the lead and run the demesne properly. It would be a nice change from three generations of ruin.

* * *

Iolanthe Orlov rolled and groaned as the morning sun streamed into her bedchamber. Her left leg hurt again, from toes to hip. She’d have to have her maid massage the offending limb with more herbed salve. Sometimes it helped. She had to be pain-free today so she could think better. Yesterday, Dimitri had hinted that something was coming right at the family with all the force of a runaway train. Probably more wild demands and vicious complaints from the daimyo, throwing the family into further turmoil.

Although -- she paused in her morning struggle to strip off her nightgown -- Rastislav’s drunken nastiness, while legendary, was also normal. So why was her brother getting himself fashed? She looked down at her twisted left hand. It had never healed correctly, despite years of Orlov doctors. At least it never hurt, despite the ugly scarring from inept surgery. Maybe she should let her maid, Olga, undress her this morning, rather than fight her unwilling body. Then she could concentrate her energies on what news her brother had unearthed.

Perhaps papa would know. He, along with Uncle Ljubo, was one of Rastislav’s closest advisors. It was a risky position, but someone had to do it. That damned Madame Orlov, the first daimyah of Orlov, had decreed that the daimyo had to be the eldest son of the eldest son. That had worked as long as the old woman was alive, so everyone had said.

But generations later, her method had stopped working. Iolanthe knew from her friends at the finishing school in Nourz that other demesnes didn’t follow this foolish procedure. Those families voted for the best, most effective candidate to lead the demesne from among their various branches. It gave every line a chance at leadership; encouraging every male relative to excel since they, too, had a chance to become the future daimyo, or their brother, cousin, son or nephew did.

On the other hand, Cressida Khan had told her in strictest confidence that the Khan family had torn itself apart over the last daimyo’s election. Branches of that family wouldn’t speak to each other, let alone work with each other anymore. The Khan family presented a united front to outsiders, because it was expected and they refused to demonstrate any weakness to the rest of the Four Hundred. Behind closed doors, however, it had been a bloodbath. Cressida even hinted that the death of a major family member of Khan had not been entirely natural.

Iolanthe thought about that as her maid began rubbing salve into her left leg, stretching, rubbing, and pushing the muscles until they began to respond better and the irritating tingle from hip to toes stopped.

“Miss Iolanthe?” Olga said quietly, as she helped Iolanthe pull on her undergarments, followed by a creamy yellow dress. “It may be time again for the acupuncturist in Nourz.” She kept her eyes firmly on the plush carpet. Rastislav and his father and grandfather before him insisted that servants know their place at all times. None of the Orlov servants ever made eye-contact with a family member. They spoke to carpets, to potted plants, to doors, to furniture, to paintings. Never directly to a family member.

Iolanthe wiggled her toes. She’d be able to walk easily now, as long as she kept one of her canes handy. They were beautifully carved of rare wood and quite decorative. She owned more than a dozen, each different, and each more beautiful than the last. She used them as accessories to her outfits, like parasols or fans. Unfortunately, as decorative as her canes were, they maddened Rastislav, serving as a constant reminder that she, Iolanthe, was defective and it was his fault.

Everyone agreed it had been an accident, causing her permanent injury and damaging her mother even more severely. Iolanthe had recovered, mostly, although mama never had. Her injuries had finally killed her after years of being bedridden. But if Rastislav hadn’t been drunkenly shoving people around on the wide upstairs balcony, he wouldn’t have slammed into her and mama, pushing them down the flight of marble stairs and crashing into the large china vases arranged on the spacious landing. It had happened so quickly no one had been close enough to stop the fall. Mama had tried to shield Iolanthe, only a toddler, with her own body and had paid for her selflessness.

She pretended to study the canes being presented by the maid, one by one. Maybe she could coax Cressida into telling her more about that Khan family member who died of other than natural causes. Rastislav had no heir. If he died of other than natural causes, as long as it appeared quite natural and unsuspicious, someone else would be named as daimyo and the family could begin to recover. They could change their own internal rules and never again insist on the oldest son of the oldest son as being the most naturally fit member of the family. True, primogeniture was an easy, straightforward method that stopped succession arguments in their tracks, but easy didn’t guarantee best results.

“The yellowwood walking stick, today, I think,” Iolanthe said. It blended nicely with her skirts, rather than being high contrast like some of her others. There was a chance Rastislav wouldn’t notice it and screech at her father for permitting her to use it. She could tuck it behind her when sitting and the daimyo wouldn’t see it at all if she was careful.

She sighed. Why couldn’t Rastislav ride drunk and jump hedges and break his damn back? It would save so much trouble. He had more lives than a cat, it seemed. He never got sick, never even took a tumble. Maybe the alcohol had pickled him enough that no fungal infection dared take root along with making sure he always landed soft. A hunting accident would work well too, but Rastislav didn’t spend much time hunting anything dangerous like wild boars or the tigers ruling the deep jungles in the heart of Orlov. He liked commanding the attention of a hawk and never risked his own neck, only the hawk’s.

She sighed again at how her thoughts were running. Mama would be disappointed in her wishing someone, even Rastislav, dead. Well, mama was wrong. Some people _were_ better off dead, relieving their unhappy relatives of an onerous and unending burden. She wished she could leave Orlov, but a glance in the mirror confirmed that wasn’t going to happen either. She was damaged and plain and had too forthright a manner of thinking and speaking. Her very appearance shamed Rastislav Orlov and his was the only opinion that counted. He’d already told papa that Orlov would not provide a dowry of any kind, nor look match-make for her.

Without a dowry and with no family backing her, she couldn’t escape.

She was Iolanthe Orlov, well-bred and well-connected lady of the Four Hundred, and she was as trapped in her situation as the maid emptying the chamberpot. It didn’t bear fretting over again, so instead, she fretted over what Dimitri might have to say.

* * *

The immense gardens surrounding the Orlov castle were extensive, elaborate, and as long as you didn’t look too closely, reasonably well-maintained. Madame Orlov would have spotted the weeds polluting her mixed perennial beds in an instant. She would have seen how the batter of the boxwood hedges was sloped incorrectly. She would have noticed the roses had not been deadheaded and the flame lilies were dying from overcrowding because they had not been dug up and divided in many years. Those faults were just the beginning of the deficiencies. The gardeners would have trembled under her scrutiny and with good reason, fearing the lash of her temper followed by the lash of her whip.

Jerold and Ljubo did notice the deficiencies, during their late morning stroll, but considered it another task to be deferred because there were so many more pressing issues than ornamental gardening.

“Morley slipped me a forecast of the yam harvest, when I was getting dressed,” Jerold said.

“Bad again?” Ljubo asked.

“No, better than we could have hoped. We have to keep it from _him_. We could sell a portion to stave off the moneylenders and still have enough left to feed the serfs. _He_ would want to sell the entire harvest and spend the extra on the whores of Barsoom. He must think that serfs can live on grass, like horses.”

“Err. A good harvest is a better problem than mass starvation, though. You agree?”

“I do. I’ll think on how to present the report to him,” Jerold said. “Fortunately, our new steward is not Rastislav’s creature. He bleeds for the wellbeing of serfs, far more than they deserve, thus making him useful to us.”

“Morley is Fredo’s boy.”

“Yes. But unlike his father, I don’t believe he approves of Rastislav. Nor does he seem to spend his time drunk like his father. Still, I’ll be careful.”

“While you were managing our new steward, your son came by my suite.”

“Dimitri?” Jerold said, surprised.

“He’s been a busy boy,” Ljubo said with a frown. “Did you know he was the one to tell Rastislav about the DelFino girl?”

Jerold stopped walking despite the attention it might draw from any watching eyes in the castle. “No. Tell me all.”

“Your son is a bright lad,” Ljubo said. “Like his father.”

“Get to the point. We must appear at luncheon,” Jerold spat out and began striding towards the statue at the end of the path. The statue, of one of Orlov’s many brave and stalwart founders, marked the turn in one of the traditional walking paths through the extensive pleasure garden. This gentleman would have been horrified at what Orlov had become and the expression on his stone face seemed to show it. Or perhaps it was the sweater of terraformers needing to be scrubbed off.

“Dimitri has many acquaintances among the younger set of the Four Hundred. One of them is Charlton DelFino. Dimitri mentioned Rastislav’s need for a new wife and an heir to Charlton. Charlton’s sister is Yilanda DelFino,” Ljubo said.

Jerold stopped again, his face working with disgust. “He’s not much of a brother to his sister, to offer her up to Rastislav.”

Ljubo smirked. “Dimitri is a clever boy. I don’t think he told Charlton about Rastislav’s peccadillos. Dimitri was thinking of his own sister, your daughter, Iolanthe.”

Jerold shook his head to clear it. “The boy has not spoken to me. Continue, please.”

“You know Rastislav won’t allow Iolanthe to be shopped around for a husband. He won’t provide a dowry. He doesn’t want anyone to know how he harmed her, or your wife, Nandini.”

Jerold swore softly. “That bastard. He murdered her. And I did nothing.”

“You had to protect your children, Jerold,” Ljubo said calmingly. “Rastislav would have taken any disloyalty from you as reason to punish them. Iolanthe needs to leave Orlov, but with her physical limitations and no dowry, she needs to go where she will be cared for. You know this. I know this. Dimitri knows this. Charlton is Dimitri’s age and unmarried.”

“He is a DelFino. They can choose whoever they want,” Jerold said. “My Iolanthe is a jewel among daughters but even so, DelFino would not speak to us about her unless she brought the Pearls with her as a dowry.”

“Not in this case. Charlton and Yilanda’s father is Albion DelFino.”

“That rotted slice of ham? That liar? That unlucky gambler? That cheat?” Jerold laughed harshly. “Let me guess. Albion DelFino’s price for selling his daughter is having his gambling debts paid off.”

“You are not quite correct,” Ljubo said. “His wife, Constance, is ill. The DelFino family won’t pay for her care. They think Albion is lying in order to extract money from the family.”

“They’re probably correct. I’d forgotten the gloriously beautiful Constance Ranaglia married that cad.” Jerold closed his eyes in pain. His beautiful, loving Nandini gone. The only good thing about her death was that it ended her pain. The pain had never ended for him. His grief was still acute; he missed his lost wife as though the wound was fresh and raw, and not years old.

“Dimitri reported that Charlton is deeply concerned for his mother’s health. Charlton is ignorant of what happens to the east of DelFino, no surprise with that pack. He doesn’t understand who and what Rastislav is. Charlton sees a chance to marry his sister off well and care for his mother. Payment of his father’s debts are secondary.”

“Tell me, Ljubo,” Jerold said carefully. “Why did my son speak with you and not me? I feel that you, my closest and dearest cousin, and my son Dimitri plotted against me and my Iolanthe.”

“Dimitri is not a skilled plotter, Jerold,” Ljubo said easily. “He told me he was ashamed and did not know how to tell you. He speculated without thinking to Charlton, while in Albion’s presence, when they met by chance in Barsoom. Much of what followed is Albion’s doing, seeking money from Rastislav. Events ran away from your son and now, he is trying to recapture and ride this tiger he has freed from a cage.”

“My Iolanthe --”

“Must marry for her own good. You know daughters must marry out of their demesnes; both to strengthen ties between the Four Hundred and improve fertility. Iolanthe could look no higher than DelFino. For her, Charlton DelFino is a coup, despite his worthless father.”

“I know nothing of Charlton. Dimitri hasn’t mentioned him. Is he a rotter like his father? If so, I cannot approve,” Jerold said slowly.

“Dimitri didn’t think so. And even if he is, Iolanthe would be safe in DelFino. They’ll pay for her care at the Great Hospital. Think, Jerold! The best medical care on Mars with DelFino footing the bill. Who else will offer for Iolanthe without a dowry?”

“I don’t like it,” Jerold said, even more slowly. “My own daughter deserves better than Albion DelFino’s branch of that family.”

“She certainly does!” Ljubo agreed. “But will she get it? Dmitri begged for a meeting with you, me, him, and Iolanthe in the gardens at dusk. The bugs will keep everyone away so we may speak privately. Both moons will be up and the moonflowers and cereus will be in bloom. No one will comment.”

“Other than to ask why we’re feeding the bugs with our blood, you fool,” Jerold snapped. “But yes, we’ll have privacy and everyone knows Iolanthe adores moonflowers and cereus.” He sighed. “This may do.”


	5. “So, you admit to being a piece of deadweight.”

The days passed slowly and, although Lannie watched mama closely, and observed her father even more closely, she couldn’t learn more. Mama would cough delicately, then much less delicately, until she was dark in the face, hacking, and heaving for breath.

She drank more and more of Cook’s evil-smelling tisane but while the foul brew soothed mama’s throat, it didn’t make the cough go away.

Lannie caught herself listening at doors and hovering just outside open windows, hoping to overhear something useful. Mama refused to talk about her condition at all, denying that anything was wrong. Daddy said his dear wife was doing better, but what she really needed was to visit the Great Hospital in Barsoom for a definitive diagnosis.

However, as Albion DelFino added each time Lannie asked, the DelFino family didn’t believe a word he said about Constance. If Lannie wanted to care for her mother, like a dutiful and obedient daughter should, she’d have to marry Rastislav Orlov. Then _he_ would pay for mama’s treatments.

Charlton wasn’t any more helpful, although he was as anxious over mama’s health as Lannie was. He also agreed with their father and when he lectured Lannie on not worrying about marrying Rastislav Orlov, he would add that he, himself, had to marry an Orlov too and he expected a harpy like his sister. Those discussions usually ended in shouting, harsh words and slammed doors.

Tomorrow, however, Lannie hoped the situation would change. Zachary, the daimyo of DelFino, was scheduled to call right after breakfast. It wasn’t a social call. It was to inspect and judge how Albion had been managing his corner of DelFino, something Albion had done nothing to prepare for. Neither had anyone else, something that was starting to worry her.

* * *

The daimyo’s official visit was unpleasant from the very first moment. Zachary surveyed the weed-infested farms surrounding the village, examined the shabby village itself with its ramshackle cottages and struggling shops, interviewed the resentful, scrawny peasants and their too-thin, ragged, barefoot children, and inspected the crumbling manor house Albion had grown up in. The daimyo found repeated deficiencies in Albion’s management and pointed them all out as loudly as he could. It was humiliating, made even more so by the fact that Zachary was right on every point.

Lannie and Charlton both came along for the inspection, riding in the carriage with Albion and Zachary as befitting their status. Charlton presumably would take the reins of this tiny corner of the vast DelFino demesne as soon as his father fell over dead or ran off so he had to learn what was expected and where his father fell so lamentably short. Lannie had to learn what was expected as well, so she’d perform better in her preordained future as the daimyah of Orlov. Constance alone had been excused, based on her health and the heat of the day.

Zachary seemed to think it was the best idea in all of Mars that Yilanda, a daughter of DelFino, be married off to a man older than her own father. He didn’t have to provide a dowry, a fact that made him beam, the old skinflint. Zachary went so far as to announce – in the middle of the village square before the gaping rabble -- that Albion’s deal with Rastislav was the only thing he had ever done right for DelFino. Even marrying Constance Ranaglia and siring two children paled in comparison, particularly as Albion had blown through his bride’s dowry, the one meant be divided up among any daughters of the marriage. He gave Lannie a pointed glare while stating that uncomfortable fact. Albion’s response to hampering his daughter’s future options consisted of a world-weary shrug.

For herself, Lannie wished desperately that the heavens would open up in a thunderous monsoon, despite the open carriage they were riding in. The heavens refused to cooperate, and the weather remained sunny and hot.

* * *

The day’s inspections were over at last. The open carriage pulled up in front of the manor house and escape and freedom were at hand, at least until the formal dinner that evening. Lannie, Charlton, and Albion made a concerted move to leap from the carriage, getting in each other’s way. Zachary DelFino held up his hand demanding silence, obedience, and continued attendance from Albion and his children. He wasn’t finished. He informed them he had just gotten started with what he had to say to Albion DelFino.

Charlton watched dismally as the daimyo lectured his father, then slumped against the cushions when Zachary turned on him.

“Why haven’t you done anything to manage this corner of DelFino?” Zachary demanded. “Do tell me, please. Or are you planning on becoming the same useless wastrel your father and grandfather are?”

Grandfather was currently bedridden in an upstairs bedroom and dying slowly of advanced alcoholism and cirrhosis of the liver. Everyone avoided him since any attempt at conversation descended quickly into a torrent of cursing about poor treatment and lack of wine to ease pain. Grandfather also threw things and his aim, despite his shaky hands, was surprisingly good.

“I…” Charlton looked around for help. Albion ignored his son in favor of watching fluffy clouds scud across the sky. Lannie smirked at her brother from behind her feathery fan. It wasn’t the height of fashion, being made of free chicken feathers instead of something finer, but it was pretty, she could stay cooler, and hide behind the plumes when necessary.

Zachary frowned. “So, you admit to being a piece of deadweight.”

“No, I’m not,” Charlton grumbled. “It’s just that, well…” His voice trailed off under the daimyo of DelFino’s implacable eyes.

Lannie couldn’t quite stifle a giggle of enjoyment over Charlton being raked over the coals.

Zachary DelFino snapped his attention to her.

“And you, missy. You could have taken the lead in running the manor house at least and seeing to the daily needs of the peasants, since your mother seems not to have bothered. Have you done anything more useful than your brother?”

Lannie opened her mouth, then shut it swiftly.

“No, sir,” she mumbled finally, speared to the seat by his gimlet eyes. “It’s boring.”

“Boring! Making sure your house doesn’t decay into a pigsty around your ears, ensuring your staff is properly clothed, fed, housed, and supervised, the household accounts balance, and the bills are paid is boring? Do you think that work does itself?” Zachary snarled.

“No, sir,” Lannie mumbled, chastened.

“Albion, you are even more worthless than I had grasped from the provided reports,” Zachary pronounced coldly. “You do nothing to manage even this tiny corner of DelFino. You haven’t taught either of your children what they need to know to support the demesne, in Charlton’s case, and to not bring shame to DelFino wherever she marries, in Yilanda’s case. Dreadful.”

“Now, Zachary,” Albion pleaded.

“Shut. Up,” Zachary said. “Where has the money gone that was provided to you to run your corner of DelFino? Gambling, perhaps? Tarts during your various unnecessary visits to Barsoom? It certainly hasn’t been spent thatching peasant cottages as you claimed in your last report.”

Lannie and Charlton exchanged shocked glances. Daddy always claimed he had been forced to run their small estate with the money it earned and no more. And tarts? What did Zachery mean by that? Daddy never cheated on mama. Being faithful was one of his few virtues.

Zachary turned his attention back to Lannie and Charlton, after their father wilted into a sullen lump against the weather-stained upholstery of the seat.

“You, Charlton,” Zachary said coldly. Charlton cringed against the seat.

“I will assign my own son, Walter, to explain to you how things should be done. Pay close attention and perhaps you might be salvageable. At the very least, learn enough to not humiliate the unlucky Orlov girl your father dredged up for you.”

“You, Yilanda,” Zachary turned on her. She cringed too. “I will assign your cousin, Ulla, to explain how to properly run a large household in the Four Hundred since your mother is obviously incapable. Pay close attention so you don’t shame DelFino when you relocate to Orlov. As the daimyah, you’ll be expected to set the tone for the entire demesne. If you can’t perform, you’ll shame yourself as well. You are both dismissed. Albion. You are _not_.”

“Yes, sir, my lord Zachary,” Lannie said. She rose promptly, gracefully exited the carriage, made her curtsey, and, an unusual courtesy for her, waited for Charlton.

He climbed down after her, bowed, and said, “yes, sir, my lord Zachary.”

Zachary groaned, and tipped his head back to search the sky for patience while they stood there awkwardly, waiting to be dismissed.

When he judged they had waited long enough, Zachary said “Charlton, are you completely ignorant of even basic manners? You should have gone first and helped your sister out of the carriage. Yilanda, that was ill-bred. You should have waited for your brother to exit first so he could help you down as befitting your status. Albion, you are completely incompetent. There should have been servants standing by to assist. You two may go. I expect you both at dinner, properly dressed and properly behaved.”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused, since there was nothing else to say. The coachman kept his eyes straight ahead and his face blank, as he had during the entire inspection. Lannie caught his eye and saw the coachman’s first flicker of emotion: bottomless contempt, but not for the daimyo of DelFino.

Lannie fixed a smile firmly on her face and walked as quickly as she dared back to the house. Charlton kept pace easily, although she could tell he wanted to sprint inside but didn’t dare while under the daimyo’s disapproving eyes.

Once safely behind closed doors, she exploded. “Ulla! That controlling bitch! She’ll be awful! At least you got Walter to dog your heels.”

“What are you talking about, sissy?” Charlton growled back. “Walter is a mealy-mouthed prig.”

“He’s never been that way with me,” Lannie retorted.

“Because he likes you. He hates me.”

“Maybe if you were nice to him, Charlton, he would be nice back.”

“I don’t pay that killjoy any attention at all when I see him.” Charlton slumped down on the divan, sending up puffs of feathers and dust. “He’s got no reason on my end.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Lannie sniped.

“Only because he hasn’t gone tattling on you,” Charlton snapped back.

“Walter’s not a tattletale.”

“Oh yes he is. And a liar. He’s got plenty of people fooled but not me.”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Lannie said. Charlton was unreasonable when it came to Walter.

She slumped down next to Charlton, then sat back bolt upright.

“Charlton, we’ve got a bigger problem than Ulla and Walter coming to tell us how we’re doing everything wrong.”

“And what would be worse?”

“Weren’t you listening to Zachary?”

Charlton groaned. “Don’t play question games, not now. My head is splitting.”

Lannie caught the undertone in her brother’s voice and turned. He had a tightness around his eyes and she could have bounced coins off his shoulders so she swallowed the smart remark she had ready.

“Zachary said that daddy had been given money to keep things fixed in the village, pay bills, stuff like that. But daddy apparently went gambling in Barsoom and, and,” Lannie swallowed audibly. “Visited tarts. What did the daimyo mean by that?”

Charlton didn’t answer right away.

She thought about poking him with a sharp elbow (she knew just the spot to make Charlton squeal) but restrained herself.

Her brother heaved a sigh and straightened himself up, then stood and paced in front of his sister.

“Zachary was right about everything dad hasn’t been doing. Dad has got to be the worst manager in the DelFino family. I think Zachary’s implying that dad isn’t just a bad manager. He’s a gambler, which we knew, but he’s also a liar, he’s a thief, since he’s spending money earmarked for the village on Gods know what, and he’s cheating on mama with tarts in Barsoom. That’s probably where the village repair money went. On gambling and tarts.”

Lannie slumped back still further onto the divan until only the wall was holding her up.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” she said.

“Yeah. We’re stuck.”

“That mean’s mama’s stuck,” Lannie said. “No one in DelFino will believe anything daddy says about her health. They’ll be sure he’s lying because he’s been lying all along.” A thief. How could daddy be a thief? If he was going to steal DelFino money, he should have spent it on mama’s care but that didn’t appear to be the case.

“Yeah. Guess if we want mama to visit a real doctor and not just the village apothecary, I marry the Orlov harpy and you marry the Orlov daimyo,” Charlton stated, staring down at his slumped over sister. “And I guess I’m going to have to listen to that prig, Walter, because he probably knows everything that dad should have taught me years ago. Zachary would never neglect his duties as a father or a manager. That’s why the family made him the daimyo. One of the reasons, anyway.” Zachery had been both ruthless and pitilessly accurate in his assessments.

Lannie stared up at her brother, looming over her. “Ulla can probably run a manor house with both hands tied behind her back. I’ll have to listen to her telling me everything I do wrong and she’ll be right about all of it. She’ll be thrilled to tell me how deficient I am, you know she will.”

“Yeah,” Charlton agreed. “But you forgot –”

“I am not marrying the daimyo of Orlov.”

“Then mama may die. Think about that, why don’t you, instead of yourself for a change,” Charlton said wearily and stomped off, leaving Lannie slumped on the divan in a cloud of dust motes and bits of floating feathers.

* * *

Fen yawned and stretched as dawn stroked across his face. He liked sleeping outside, even when it was still chilly with early spring. It made him feel alive, waking with the sun and filling his lungs with crisp, cold air. Besides, this would be an adventure! Even a tame adventure like riding the corridor to Barsoom and back by himself was sure to be interesting.

“Fen,” Dawud said. “Tea? We’ll reach Kenyatta today. It will take some time to dicker over that pair of breeding mares the daimyo wants to trade to their daimyo and see to the handover with the Pigeon-Master.” He winked salaciously. “They’ll be offering hospitality, yeah?”

Dawud held out a cup of steaming mint tea, watching Fen through the swirling vapors rising from its surface.

Around them, the camp was already stirring. Dawud and Kavan’s crew of vaqueros were seeing to the horses, feeding the cages of HighTower pigeons, and getting the morning meal on. They must have let him sleep in, although Fen couldn’t think why. He had worked just as hard as the crew ever since they’d ridden from the manor house, despite him being family and not a vassal. It hadn’t felt right to make a point of his supposedly higher status when it was so obvious how much more Dawud, Kavan, and their crew knew about living off the steppes. The journey had been eye-opening.

Fen thought about Dawud’s offer, flushing as he did so. He took the cup and sipped, giving him time to think over his answer. “Yeah. I should join you. It would be fun.” He sighed. “But I cannot be late for that zemstvo vote. If I am, HighTower will incur more fines.”

“You got months to make the journey. A few days more here in Kenyatta won’t matter,” Kavan added lazily. “It would be good for you. Start your journey down the corridor with a smile. Give you pleasant dreams when you’re on your own.” Like Dawud, he studied Fen through a veil of steam rising from his own cup. His expression was amiable but his eyes remained guarded.

Fen tried to look determined and competent although he felt anything but. The concept of hospitality was exciting and embarrassing in equal measures. What if he couldn’t measure up? And he just didn’t like the concept of never being able to acknowledge any child he might start. That child would belong to some other father. He understood how vital it was, one man donating a piece of himself so another, sterile man could have a family, but even so. The woman involved had the easier burden. It was her baby, no matter who fathered her child. He wondered how those desperate couples handled their situation. Everyone had to be a willing participant. Yet it wasn’t openly discussed to ensure everyone involved knew what messy emotional territory they were riding into.

“You are absolutely right, Kavan. But those Kenyatta women will have to make do with you and your crew.” He sighed gustily, to better emphasize the supreme sacrifice he was about to make. “If I am late, all of HighTower will suffer. This bank draft” -- he patted the pocket sewn inside his jerkin – “has to be on time, or we’ll pay an even bigger fine than what I’ve got with me. I don’t want to speak ill, but HighTower can’t afford many more mistakes.” His face went grim. “The upcoming winter will be difficult enough as it is. I don’t dare be late.”

He stared tensely into the cup, trying to divine the future in the floating mint leaves uncurling in the hot water. HighTower needed hard coin desperately. Every penny of Jiying’s dowry was already spoken for three times over. It was a good thing the Chong family was wealthy enough to indulge their dearest daughter when she fell madly in love with Gerard. Otherwise, they’d have looked higher for her than any member of the HighTower clan. HighTower, as was customary with every demesne in the Ennaretee, produced as much as it could within its own boundaries and traded within the quad wherever possible for what it couldn’t. But some things couldn’t be home-grown or paid for with barter. Merchants, even in tiny Robinsin, insisted on cash. So did the Martian government. So did the moneylenders.

“You’re a good lad, Fenrick,” Dawud said, catching Kavan’s eyes. “Thoughtful.”

Dawud and Kavan had been steppes partners since childhood and like most steppes’ partners of Fen’s experience, they could communicate without word or hand and they seemed to be doing it now. Borvo HighTower had insisted they ride along with Fenrick southwards down the corridor from Robinsin, skirting Purnell, and then across to Kenyatta. It let him be efficient and keep an eye on his youngest son, for a while.

“That’s generous of you, Dawud, seeing as how ignorant I am. I know less than your vaqueros,” Fen replied. “I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t. Thanks to you and Kavan and the crew, I should make it safely to Barsoom. You may have saved HighTower by teaching me enough to stay alive.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Dawud replied easily. “You’re a bright lad. You’d catch on fast, learning from your mistakes.”

“A mistake on the steppes can kill you and you know it, Dawud,” Fen said. “I figure that if I can keep up this pace, I’ll make Barsoom with about fourteen days to spare.”

“All the more reason to stop in Kenyatta,” Kavan said. He chuckled lasciviously and made a hand gesture, one that Fen had once seen Ethan use in front of their mother. She had slapped Ethan so hard she knocked him over and left a bruise that lingered for days. “You’ll have some fun.”

Fen laughed harshly. “Fourteen days is the best case if the weather holds, if I don’t get sick, if I don’t make a single mistake, and nothing slows me down. Do you think that’s likely? I don’t. I won’t stop at Kenyatta. You don’t need me there to dicker about horses with Remus.”

“He might want to talk to you,” Kavan pointed out. “He’ll feel slighted, not having a member of HighTower’s family to entertain, especially with you so nearby. He’s got daughters to marry off and will want to inspect a possible husband beforehand. Bad manners on your part to avoid them.”

Fen took a sip of tea to give him a moment to think. Did he want to say why? Yes, he did.

“I made a point of asking the daimyo to not inform Remus I was coming along,” he admitted. “Remus knows something about how things stand for us and he’d ask too many questions. I can’t embarrass HighTower if I’m not trying to lie to Remus Kenyatta. He’ll know for sure if I do. First question out of his mouth will be why I’m riding down the corridor now instead of someone more important taking the train to Barsoom weeks later.”

Dawud and Kavan exchanged glances again. Definitely communicating, Fen thought. He just wished he knew what they so obviously did.

“This is true,” Dawud said.

“There is something you could ask for me,” Fen said, searching for a useful change of subject. “Remus cut that deal with Shelleen. He patrols the government corridor along with Armstrong and Satran, keeping squatters out of Shelleen’s land and away from that Red Mercury lode. I would really like to know how that’s working for everyone. Kenyatta and Satran were always close, but Kenyatta and Armstrong, not so much. And Shelleen’s dirt-eaters, part of the Ennagzee. Now, if what I’ve heard is true, they’re all thick as thieves. United against the Martian government. Working together in Purnell. Even intermarrying.” He stopped and met Kavan’s dark, clever eyes.

“Find out as much as you can for me. I need to know how Remus is managing that kind of diplomacy and how well it’s paying him.”

“Sure you don’t want to ask yourself? Since he doesn’t know you’re along, and to my knowledge, he’s never met you, you could just call yourself something else,” Kavan said.

“No. If I avoid Remus, I won’t have to lie to him, either about who I am or about why HighTower can’t afford a third-class train ticket and a rented bunk to sleep in.”

“Suit yourself,” Kavan said, exchanging glances again with Dawud. “We’ll let you know when it’s time for you to veer off and parallel the government road. I assume that’s what you’ll be doing, yeah?”

“Yeah. It seems logical to use the government road as a guide. They’ll have water at every waystation so I won’t have to search for it. I can eat mil-rats if I have to, save time on hunting. Got my snares for overnight.” Fen snorted and spat onto the ground. “I won’t sleep in a waystation, though. I’d much rather sleep rough, hidden away, so’s I don’t get knifed and robbed.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that in the corridor between Kenyatta and Shelleen,” Dawud said. “Later on, maybe.”

“Just in case,” Fen replied. “Just in case.”

* * *

A few hours later, Kavan pulled up his horse, halting the troop. They had reached the rutted road leading from Kenyatta to Purnell, the first sign of men for days. Kavan and Dawud had insisted on keeping to the steppes surrounding the government corridor southwards, rather than take the easy way out of visiting government waystations. It ate more time, but it guaranteed invisibility. Fortunately, since the Hands knew the locations of all the waterholes and streams between Robinsin and Purnell, it only added two days overall to the journey. It was also a last chance for them to make sure Fen knew what he was doing.

“Here’s where we split off, Fen. Last chance to see Kenyatta’s lovelies,” Kavan announced.

Fen let go of Coppertail’s reins and held up both hands in mock surrender. “You know. I should. They tempt me, they really do.”

He caught a flash between Kavan and Dawud.

“But I can’t and you know it, so quit teasing. Get all the information you can about how Kenyatta does things and write it up for me as soon as you can. Everything you see. If you think something else you observe would be helpful to HighTower, well, I’d like to know that too. Give my dad a copy. I’ll see you in a few months.”

Fen grinned, picked up the reins, and gave Coppertail a nudge. The horse whickered, eager to be moving forward into the unknown.

“Wait, Fen,” Kavan commanded.

Madre Winter, what was it now? Fen pasted a smile on his face and reined Coppertail to a halt.

“Fen, catch,” Kavan said and tossed one of his bright green beads to Fen.

He lunged for the bead and held it aloft to catch the light.

“A bead?” Fen asked in astonishment, admiring the bead in his hand. He hadn’t yet earned many beads, yet another aspect of being the runt of the litter.

“You earned it, Fen,” Kavan said.

“I haven’t got back from Barsoom alive,” Fen protested. “Riding down the corridor from HighTower to Kenyatta hardly counts.”

Kavan grinned. “You made the hard decision, the right decision. You chose to say ‘no’ to a whole lot of fun in a soft bed to make sure you got to Barsoom on time. There’s those who wouldn’t.”

Fen frowned. “Ethan.”

“Among others,” Kavan said, as a look of distaste flashed across his face. “Have a safe trip.”

“Fen? Catch,” Dawud said.

He lunged and caught another bead, this one dull yellow.

“Thank you,” Fen said, flustered. He held up the second bead and thought his heart would stop. “But why?”

“For wanting to know how Kenyatta does things so HighTower can do better in the future,” Dawud replied. “There’s those who wouldn’t have.”

“Thank you both,” Fen said slowly, overwhelmed that Kavan and Dawud thought enough of him to award him beads.

“You earned them. Now go earn some more,” Kavan said and wheeled his horse towards Kenyatta. Dawud cantered behind him, the vaqueros --whose hands flew as they discussed what they’d seen -- trotted afterwards and then the string of packhorses, bringing up the rear.

Fen was left alone on the steppes, him and Coppertail, loaded with as much gear as he and the horse could manage. He, Kavan, and Dawud had gone over every bit of gear several times over when they broke camp earlier. The burden would get lighter fast, as he ate and drank the waterskins dry. It was a worrisome thought, made less so by the safety factor of water readily available at every government waystation and mil-rats to eat, when he ate down his supplies. He nudged Coppertail into a trot and they headed to the west, away from the rising sun and towards the new day and the long journey towards the pole-to-pole corridor.

A few moments later, Fen heard hoofbeats pounding behind him. What now? He slowed Coppertail to a walk and turned to see who was riding up behind him.

Dawud.

“I’m sure I didn’t forget anything,” Fen said.

“Not you, it was me, yeah?” Dawud said.

Fen gave him a hard look. “You don’t forget anything and if you ever did, Kavan wouldn’t. What is it?”

“Don’t make me out to be a paragon among men, Fenrick HighTower,” Dawud replied. “I am not.”

“Then you must want to say something without the crew knowing and gossiping later on.”

“You are a bright lad. You got to make this journey, Fen, and you got to come back alive. HighTower needs you.”

Fen chuckled. “Nice of you to say so.”

“Quit your foolishness right now,” Dawud ordered. “Quit thinking you are the runt of the litter because you are not. Quit listening to those worthless brothers and cousins of yours. You think any of the Hands like how HighTower is being run? We see what’s happening in the family and we are not happy. I swore fealty to HighTower, not to any one man in the ruling family. To _HighTower_. To the demesne and all of its people. They are my concern and it looks like they’re your concern as well. Come back in one piece, Fenrick. We need you.”

Fen gaped at Dawud. He had expected to do plenty of thinking and observing during the endless weary days in the saddle, first west into the setting sun and then southwards, to the great free-city of Barsoom where it straddled the equator, but not about this subject. The rot within had gone deep for a Hand to speak so to a member of the family. Not corruption; he had read enough about the taint and spoilage of some Four Hundred families. Newspapers and skynet were filled with lurid stories about other demesnes and how poorly they were run. The HighTower family suffered from fecklessness, poor management, and irresponsibility. Those were bad enough, but they were not evil.

“I will,” Fen swore. “I will.”

“See that you do.” Dawud turned and galloped back the way he had come, leaving Fen alone, with a new burden added to the others.

* * *

Ulla and Walter arrived together, riding alongside several wagonloads of baggage and servants. Lannie spotted them from one of the reception hall’s windows, drawn by the increasing noise of shouting men, neighing horses, and the squeal of wheels on the rutted road leading from the village to the decaying manor house on the hill.

She raced upstairs to find Charlton, discovering him in the library. She kept finding him there which was odd. Charlton hated reading and he wasn’t very good at it. He looked guilty as he hastily shoved a book back onto the shelf. Distracted, she wondered, just for a moment, if he had discovered books with naughty pictures and that was why Charlton kept vanishing into the library. He’d finally found something that interested him in the manor house. Usually he hid somewhere on the grounds, disappearing after breakfast (or not even showing up) and reappearing only for dinner before disappearing again.

A horse neighed loudly, the sound coming in through the open window, reminding her of her original mission.

“They’re here! Prancing along on white horses like they own the place!” she said. “Quick, we have to be waiting for them at the front door.”

“White horses?” Charlton asked. “They’re not riding in a carriage?”

“No. They must be horsey people,” Lannie replied with a shudder. Horses were intimidatingly large and she wasn’t an enthusiastic rider, although as a member of the Four Hundred, she could manage one of the beasts. Charlton was a far better rider, but had few opportunities when home since the riding horses had been sold, leaving only the pair used for the ramshackle carriage.

He followed his sister down the stairs to the grand reception room on the first floor, then stopped at the landing. “They’re going to complain about the condition of the stables, just you wait and see,” he said.

Lannie gave him a shove. “They’re going to complain about everything, dummy.”

“I am not a dummy, at least not any more of dummy than you are,” Charlton snapped back. He looked around the landing and the wide, marble staircase leading to the parquet marble below. “Hey. Who dusted the mirrors? They’re sparkling. And the floor’s clean.”

“It sure is. While you were hiding in the library, I was with the housemaids. I dusted the mirrors myself, while they mopped, and I’ve been working on all the picture frames. They’ve moved onto the rest of the floors downstairs.”

He grinned at her. “That explains the bandana covering your hair and the dust on your clothes. Take it off quick while I dust you off. Walter and Ulla will be here any second.” He whipped out a handkerchief and waved it at his sister.

Lannie gave her brother a suspicious look. “Why are you being helpful all of a sudden?”

“Cause I don’t like Walter and Ulla and even though I don’t like you, I hate them more. I won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing we’re working like peasants.” He began flicking off the worst of the cobwebs and dust clinging to his sister as she crammed the dirty bandana into a pocket already bulging with misplaced objects that needed to be put back where they belonged.

“Thank you, Charlton.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now if only you’d been doing something useful, instead of hiding in the library,” Lannie sniped.

Someone pounded on the massive front door setting off echoes in the reception hall. Charlton swallowed his relief; he wouldn’t have to admit what he’d been doing in the library to his sister. She’d be sure to say something snippy, particularly on this subject. She always did.

Lannie reached for the door handles, as Charlton said, “stop. Allow me.”

“What?”

The pounding got louder. Charlton ignored his sister, grinned, and wrenched the door open suddenly and without warning. He and Lannie had the great satisfaction of watching Walter DelFino tumble into the reception hall, taken off balance by how quickly Charlton had opened the door.

Walter recovered fast.

“Where is your butler?” he sputtered, as he regained both his dignity and his balance.

Lannie and Charlton exchanged quick glances. That wheezing, ancient gentleman was probably in the upstairs gallery, throwing the bones with the equally absent pair of footmen. Shooting dice was about all he was capable of doing these days. At least he didn’t drink like the housekeeper. Or Grandfather.

“Why, Walter,” Lannie said smoothly, “we are capable of answering a door. Our hands are not broken. Are yours that you have to have someone operate a door for you?”

“A _lady_ never opens a door,” Ulla said as she stepped inside.

Charlton put a warning hand on Lannie’s shoulder and for a wonder, she took her brother’s hint and shut up.

“That must make for long waits when a _lady_ has to get through a door somewhere and she’s alone,” he sneered, using the insulting tone guaranteed to infuriate his sister. He grinned inwardly when he saw that it worked the same way with Ulla as her face darkened with fury and her expression tightened.

Walter and Ulla DelFino exchanged angry glares. They were both impeccably dressed and had somehow managed to remain dust-free during their outdoor journey on horseback. Like many members of the extended DelFino clan, both were blonde, blue-eyed, and had glowing emerald complexions, the kind that everyone in the Four Hundred claimed to have but so few actually did.

“Good one, Charlton,” Lannie said loyally. “I always did wonder about that myself.”

“Aren’t you going to invite us inside?” Walter asked.

“You’re already inside,” Lannie said. “And stinking up the place too. Phew!” She vigorously waved a hand in front of her wrinkled nose, trying to move the air around. “You both reek of horse. Can’t your branches of the family afford carriages?”

“We are here to help you,” Walter said from his lofty height. He was taller than Charlton and towered over Lannie. “You are not starting off on the right foot with us.”

“How sad,” Lannie said. “Even sadder is you keeping your servants standing around outside in the heat. _I_ would never be so inconsiderate.”

“Ditto.” Charlton leaned out the window and yelled to the servants accompanying Walter and Ulla. “Get that luggage dragged inside, those horses to the stables, and then you lot can get out of the sun. Drinks and food are waiting in the kitchen.”

“Ulla, if you’re going to have the vapors, the couch is that way,” Lannie smirked and pointed at the most moth-eaten divan, the one guaranteed to send up puffs of sneeze-inducing terraformer spores, tiny feathers, and dust.

Walter and Ulla smiled at each other coldly, then turned even colder expressions onto Charlton and Lannie.

“You two need even more help than the daimyo claimed you did,” Ulla purred. “Good thing we packed enough for every single day, right up until your wedding to the daimyo of Orlov, Yilanda. You _need_ my assistance, so that you don’t shame yourself and all of DelFino when you marry.”

“You too, Charlton,” Walter added. “Unless you want to humiliate that unlucky Orlov girl like your father does to your mother on a daily basis?”

Charlton lunged for Walter’s throat, knocking him down onto the marble floor, Ulla screeched like a harpy when Lannie slapped her, several burly servants specially assigned by the daimyo charged in to pull the fighting cousins apart, and the day went downhill from there.


	6. “You’ll shame me and all of Orlov if you can’t behave better than some ignorant tavern slut.”

The day ground by, one interminable hour after another, as the pitiless sun beat down upon Orlov. Iolanthe waited patiently for dusk, coolness, the promise of night-blooming flowers, and an answer to her questions. Her brother Dimitri, even when cornered after lunch, refused to enlighten her about the planned, private conversation.

She had to wait.

In the meantime, she, auntie Quintana, and the head housekeeper inspected linens needed for the upcoming week, consulted with the cooks over meals, and planned which one of Orlov Castle’s dozens of rooms next needed to be emptied, scrubbed from ceiling to floor, all the furnishings washed, have repairs made, and possibly be repainted. The business of a castle’s upkeep never ended, making it a full-time task for the ladies of Orlov and their army of servants.

Throughout the day, Auntie Quintana refused to say anything either, confining the conversation to the necessities of housekeeping for dozens of people and the legion of servants needed to wait upon them. Iolanthe understood that as Ljubo’s wife, Quintana probably knew what was in the wind, but she wouldn’t talk. Auntie Quintana had endured years in Orlov and she had learned how to keep her own counsel. She always listened but she rarely revealed a confidence without express permission.

Auntie Quintana would only say, when pressed, “things will get better, dear girl.” She paused in examining a linen sheet spread out for her inspection by one of the maids and turned to stroke Iolanthe’s cheek, smiling fondly at her niece. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”

“I miss her so much,” Iolanthe said quietly. She flicked her eyes over towards the group of silent maids spreading out another sheet from the east wing’s linens room. She knew at least one of the maids warmed Rastislav’s bed regularly, although possibly not by choice. The sot was known for his animal appetites. Still, the maid — whichever one she was — could carry tales in an effort to curry favor, especially tales about people remembering those who the sot had harmed. It was always best to be circumspect when not alone and behind closed doors.

“I know, dear girl. We all do.” Quintana held up her hand. “Stop. Bring that sheet closer to the light. Damnation. Terraformer stains?” She looked more closely and gasped “no, it’s mice!”

Everyone groaned, knowing how the workload had just increased. The cupboard holding the sheet must not have been sealed tightly enough and mice had burrowed inside to make soft nests. Every cupboard in the room would have to be checked and resealed, along with every single piece of linen being inspected closely, mended as needed, washed, aired, and refolded. Meanwhile, the rat catcher would come with his traps, poisons, hissing ferrets and yapping terriers, making a huge mess of fur, muddy pawprints, droppings, and bloodied bits of mice strewn everywhere.

Upset enough to be unwary, Iolanthe said to Quintana “I wish we were allowed to keep cats in the castle.”

The sheet wasn’t just stained; it had numerous holes nibbled in it. It would be mended, but it was ruined for use by the family. It would be surprising if every sheet in this particular cupboard of bedlinens wasn’t damaged as well.

“I know.” Quintana’s eyes flicked towards the listening maid holding the sheet out for inspection. She said, more loudly, “However, our dear daimyo, Rastislav, does not care for cats; unreliable, sneaking, sly creatures that they are.”

“The daimyo is correct in his distaste for cats,” Iolanthe murmured. So this maid — a plump, bosomy, newly arrived girl with a self-satisfied smirk — was the bedwarmer and thus could not be trusted. Based on the smirk, she probably didn’t object to Rastislav’s attentions and was new enough not to know any better. Iolanthe ran the day’s conversations over in her head, focusing on what this maid had said as they worked their way through the daily tasks. Hmm. This maid seemed clever enough to use the daimyo to her own advantage, demonstrating that she was clever indeed, as well as a risk-taker.

* * *

The sun sank into the west, not moving a single degree faster than it chose to, despite Iolanthe’s watching it closely.

“You like the sunset so much, girl?” the daimyo snarled. “Where are your manners?”

She snapped her eyes back, suddenly aware of the hovering footman. He was holding a silver platter for her to choose from. The teacakes on display did not look tempting. The daimyo favored overly rich, sickeningly sweet treats, heavily frosted to ensure they made the teeth hurt.

“I beg your pardon, my lord Rastislav,” Iolanthe replied. “The sunset is unusually brilliant today and the colors distracted me.”

She quickly chose the teacake nearest to her and placed it on her empty plate. She’d have to eat it since Rastislav had decided to pay attention to her. She kept her twisted left hand tucked in her lap, safe from his view. She’d carefully chosen a seat far from where he sat, hoping to avoid his notice. She’d failed. At least her cane was tucked behind her, where he couldn’t see it and comment on useless cripples.

“I’m trying to marry you off, girl,” he said. “You’ll shame me and all of Orlov if you can’t behave better than some ignorant tavern slut.”

“My deepest apologies, my lord,” she murmured and sipped some tea, wetting a suddenly parched throat. Marriage? Rastislav had made it plain she was damaged goods; unworthy of a dowry, useless and unmarriageable. He must have unearthed some ancient, wheezing crony who couldn’t afford to be fussy but still wanted a young bride to fumble with in bed. Marriage to someone like that wouldn’t be an escape from Orlov; rather, it would be a new, fresh hell spent praying for an early widowhood.

He glared at her across the sullenly quiet dining room. She picked up the teacake, forced a smile of anticipation and bit into it as delicately as she could manage considering the load of garish orange frosting it was slathered with. Ugh. Layers of minty meringue stuffed with quince jelly and marzipan and citrus frosting. Any of those flavors would be acceptable by themselves but together, they clashed.

“You do my daughter great honor,” Jerold said from his position at the table he shared with the daimyo.

“Yes, I do,” Rastislav slurred and poured himself another glass of red wine. “Unfortunately, she seems too stupid to respond.”

“I am overcome with your generosity, my lord,” Iolanthe said hastily. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on her plate so _he_ couldn’t see how she hated him. Did papa know? Was this what Dimitri had hinted at? Being forced to marry some monster? Maybe she could run away to Nourz, find Cressida Khan, and beg her to take her in. The Khan family didn’t think much of Orlov so even though she and Cressida were friends, she might not receive sanctuary. Or would she? She might be worth the possible disagreement between the demesnes since she would be an inside source of information.

She cautiously glanced sideways at Rastislav. He was glaring at her father as though Jerold should have groveled more. She had to say something to distract the daimyo from harassing papa. Her father walked regularly too close to the edge as it was, in his family-assigned role of advisor to the daimyo.

“The cereus and moonflowers are due to bloom tonight with the coming of dusk, my lord Rastislav. I was watching the sunset, thinking of them and how foresighted Madame Orlov was when she first planted those flowerbeds. Would you like to join me in watching them open? They are lovely,” Iolanthe chirped.

“Bah! You are a stupid girl,” Rastislav said. “You’ll be eaten alive by bugs. Even _your_ blood is worth being devoured by an insect.”

“Of course, my lord,” Iolanthe murmured, eyes modestly lowered back to her half-eaten pastry. “My apologies for such a foolish suggestion.”

“Madame Orlov loved those flowers,” Uncle Fredo said loudly. “You should go watch them open, Rastislav, like a dutiful great-great-grandson would!” He was, Iolanthe saw to her disgust, already drunk despite the earliness of the hour. “She’s the reason _you’re_ the daimyo and not someone who’d be actually capable of leading the demesne.”

The room went dead silent.

Fredo lurched to his feet, tripped over a footstool, and vomited up all the teacakes and wine he had stuffed himself with.

“Father,” Morley said, racing to help his father up. “Let me get you to your suite. Mother, would you prepare father’s bedchamber?” Two footmen joined him. They kept their faces carefully blank and their eyes focused on the task sprawled across the carpet. Fredo’s wife Avery, her own face rigid with distaste, beckoned to a maid and rose to her own feet, then made her stately way towards the doorway.

The various other members of the Orlov household all saw their chance for escape and fled, starting with a spitting mad Rastislav. The dining room emptied, leaving Ljubo, Jerold, Iolanthe, and Dimitri behind. As maids began entering to clean up, Jerold whispered to the others “we’ve been given a good omen, I think. We’ll meet at dusk by the moonflowers.”

“But papa,” Iolanthe protested.

“Later, my jewel, by the moonflowers and the cereus,” her father replied. “We’ll speak then.” He cast a warning glance around the dining room, lingering on the plump, bosomy maid who had assisted with the linens earlier in the day. Iolanthe caught his message and nodded her acquiescence. She was behind on the gossip and would have to make discreet inquiries. Her own maid, Olga, would know.

* * *

As Rastislav had prophesied, the bugs were out in force, zooming in for a blood meal. Iolanthe fanned herself vigorously and blessed her long sleeves and light veil, stymying vicious insects. Outdoor evening Equator fashions were, by necessity, sheer, lightweight, and enveloping. She picked her way carefully down the gravel path, her twisted left hand gripping firmly on her cane while she fanned herself with her right.

“If the breeze quickens,” Dimitri said, “we’ll see fewer of these damn bloodsuckers.” He slapped at a buzzing insect. Like Iolanthe, he was enveloped in sheer linen organza, white in his case where hers was the palest of blues and embroidered with flowers and edged with faux pearls. Unlike his sister, he didn’t have the benefit of a veil to shield his face. “I know we have to build a complete ecosystem, but did those Olde Earthe bastards have to include pests like mosquitos?”

“Oh look! Swifts and bats,” Iolanthe said. Both birds and bats swooped and spun overhead in the pearly gray light, diving after invisible insects.

“Good. I hope they feast,” Jerold said. “Think of it this way, Dimitri. Those mosquitos should remind you of what those Olde Earthe bastards really are: rapacious, bloodsucking parasites. When they deem Mars fully ready for them, they will swarm us, stealing everything we have built for generations and turning us all into slaves.”

“We are the Four Hundred,” Dimitri protested. “Our ancestors signed contracts.”

“Dimitri, my son, do not assume Olde Earthe bastards will ever honor a contract that isn’t to their benefit.”

“Why do they ignore us, then?” Iolanthe asked.

“They don’t, my dearest daughter, but they remain circumspect. For now. They strip our wealth, such as the rare earth mines at Summerset, from us as required for their own needs. Remember Mars, while it is perfect for us, is not yet perfected for unmodified humans. While we are terraforming Mars, they are expending their energy and wealth on occupying the rest of the solar system. But Mars remains the pearl. The only planet other than Olde Earthe itself where men can walk about in the open air. They will seize Mars back from us when they are ready. We must be ready for them.”

“That is dreadful,” Iolanthe said after a long silence. She caught and squeezed her brother’s hand.

“That day is a long way off. We, or rather, your children’s children will face that day. Like the swifts, we are not helpless.”

Jerold slapped at a bug, crushing it into a bloody smear against his white linen sleeve. He flicked the remains onto the path and ground it in further until it vanished into the white gravel. “Ah, Ljubo at last.”

“My apologies for lateness, cousin,” Ljubo said. He was panting a bit from his trot down the winding gravel path. This section of the gardens was far from the castle; almost as if Madam Orlov had deliberately devised a section of the pleasure garden to ensure privacy for illicit trysts, secret meetings, and tête-à-têtes. The rose arbors were far less private. Sadly, even Madame Orlov had been unable to command the obedience of insects, although she had insisted on plenty of bat houses and encouraged swallows and swifts to nest on the castle walls.

“Quintana will join us later,” Ljubo added. “She is assigning fresh duties to servants and organizing card games for the family to better keep everyone away from our conversation.”

The scent of moonflowers rose around them, rich and intoxicating. They began opening as soon as the sun faded into the west. The more leisurely cereus flowers stretched and slowly, slowly began to spread their petals open, adding their own delicate scent to the air. The plants were ungainly lumps of succulent leaves, yet their flowers were exquisite and complex, as though they belonged to another plant entirely. The breeze picked up and the bugs began to disperse, pushed aside by the wind. It was another good omen.

“Iolanthe, my jewel,” Jerold began.

“Papa,” Iolanthe interrupted him. “Do not waste words. With the breeze freshening, others will come out to admire Madame Orlov’s moonflowers. Who is this husband the sot speaks of?”

“Your brother, Dimitri, met Charlton and Albion DelFino in Barsoom,” Jerold plunged into the story; Dimitri filling in details as he went. Ljubo kept watch on the paths leading from the castle. Iolanthe was correct; other members of the family would indeed brave the evening to observe the first blooms of the cereus now that stinging insects had been vanquished by the freshening winds. Each cereus flower lasted a single night, if it chose to bloom at all. The plants refused to adjust their schedules to suit anyone’s needs but their own. Even Madame Orlov had not been able to make them bow to her will.

Other insects were arriving to replace the stinging, biting mosquitos; ghostly silver moths with hand-sized wings drawn by the perfume of moonflower and cereus. They were as beautiful as the flowers they pollinated, fluttering above them with flashing wings.

When Jerold finished his story, he said, “now you know. You will be able to escape Orlov, marry into DelFino, and be well cared for.”

“You assume, papa,” Iolanthe said, “that Charlton DelFino is not the cheating gambler his father and grandfather are.”

“Charlton doesn’t seem that way,” Dimitri reassured her. “We’ve met several times. He won’t touch wine because of his grandfather and he won’t even bet on horses because of his father. He admitted he shamed himself once and would not do so again.”

“How well do you know him?” Iolanthe asked. “Could he have been pretending to be better than he is?”

“I don’t know him intimately,” Dimitri conceded. “But he had plenty of opportunity in Barsoom to run wild following his father’s lead, and he refused.”

“You do not mention Barsoom whores,” she said.

“Interestingly, Albion did not indulge his appetites when his son and I were around. I don’t believe Charlton knows about them.”

“Albion DelFino has some standards?” Iolanthe said. “Based on his reputation, I am surprised.”

“How could you know this gossip, my jewel?” Jerold asked.

She laughed, a silvery rippling sound in the shifting silvery moonlight, as a silver-winged moth fluttered down towards the cereus blossom she was stroking, encouraging it to open more quickly. Overhead, Phoebus moved fast, making the shadows dance. His brother, Deimos, flashed as he raced past but his light was tiny, not much more than the brilliant stars beginning to show themselves as twilight gave way to night.

“I have many acquaintances thanks to my finishing school in Nourz. We exchange letters often. I write faithfully and have developed a wide correspondence of penpals.”

“Ah. All those letters coming and going.”

“Yes, papa. I am discreet about what I say of Orlov and I do not repeat confidences, as auntie Quintana has taught me.”

“Rastislav doesn’t care that you write and receive letters?” Dimitri asked curiously.

“No. I don’t think the sot even knows the postal service exists.”

“Interesting and useful,” her brother said. He looked thoughtful.

“Keep him ignorant, Iolanthe,” Jerold said. “The sot is becoming more paranoid. You too, Dimitri.”

She bent over to admire the ivory cereus petals stretching open and revealing their secret, intricate heart. The blossom’s perfume began to fill the air around it, encouraging another silver-winged moth to brave the people standing around the flower it sought.

“Marrying Charlton seems to be my solution,” Iolanthe said, speaking to the flower rather than her hovering father, brother, and uncle. Whatever else Charlton DelFino was, he wasn’t some wheezing geezer and the sot’s crony. “But what of his sister? Does he understand how Rastislav will abuse her? That does not speak well of him. I don’t expect Albion to care, not if his debts are being paid.”

“I’d like to know where Rastislav is getting that money when Orlov has debts of its own,” Ljubo grumbled. “He would have to sell more pearls; Gods save us all.”

“Charlton doesn’t know anything about Rastislav and I didn’t tell him,” Dimitri said. “I don’t care what happens to his sister, Yilanda, if _you_ are provided for.”

“Charlton does not care I have no dowry?”

“According to Albion, DelFino will not support either Charlton or Yilanda. The DelFino matchmakers are doing nothing to find his son a bride,” Dimitri said. “I would guess that Albion and his father before him are so useless that DelFino doesn’t want Charlton to marry and continue his line.”

“Understandable if he is truly useless to the demesne,” Iolanthe said. She began gently stroking another cereus flower at its base. “But not evil?”

“No. He may be feckless and improvident, but not evil, like Rastislav,” Jerold said.

“I think Charlton is better than that,” Dimitri said.

“Ho!” Ljubo called out. “The cereus blooming tonight are nearing their peak! You have arrived at the right moment, Morley. And how is your father, Fredo, doing?”

Morley, the new steward, came up the path, his mother on his arm. Both looked worn out, even in the flattering, soft light of the equator’s long, slow, gradually darkening night.

“He is asleep,” Morley admitted. “My mother wished to see the cereus.”

“They are delightful,” Iolanthe said promptly. “This blossom in particular is especially lovely and sweet-scented. See how it lures the silver moths into its golden heart?”

“Delightful,” Avery replied flatly. She strode up to Iolanthe and peered into the heart of the cereus, as if seeking an answer to managing the drunken lout she had married and the unhappy family she had joined.

Morley looked over the little group with cool eyes. “We came out for a reason. Rastislav told me he was planning to marry a DelFino girl, Yilanda. Did you know?”

Jerold and Ljubo exchanged quick, sideways glances.

“Yes,” Jerold admitted. “He spoke with us the other night. The girl is Albion DelFino’s daughter. She has no dowry. The daimyo believes that she will be as beautiful as her mother, Constance Ranaglia DelFino, and that is dowry enough for him.”

Morley took a quick glance around, swore under his breath, and said, “foolish. Orlov needs money.”

Morley’s mother, Avery, took her own quick glance around. “Worse than foolish. If he manages to sire a son on that unfortunate girl, Orlov will be stuck with another drunken sack of shit as the daimyo.”

“Mother!” Morley hissed.

“It’s true and you know it,” she hissed back. “Jerold, Ljubo, whatever game you are playing, we want in. My husband Fredo is destroying only himself, but Rastislav is destroying Orlov. I do not want my son, my Morley, to bring a bride to this misery of a demesne. I will not harm the mother of my grandchildren as I have been harmed.”

“Do you mean that, Avery?” Quintana purred, making everyone jump. Her outdoor veils were smoky grays and dull blues, letting her vanish into the night, and she had stepped carefully on the gravel paths, making no sound to alert anyone to her arrival. She concealed her hands behind her back.

Avery turned her snapping dark eyes on Quintana. “Your and Ljubo’s sons are in the same position as my Morley. They will come home from school to this place of pestilence, have to make the demesne function despite what Rastislav does to ruin it, and then try to find decent girls to marry and bring here. The Pearls of Orlov are not the lure they used to be, not in this sector. Rastislav, his father, and his father before them, have seen to that.”

“Quite true, Avery,” Jerold said. “But you understand our caution.”

“I do, as does my son,” Avery replied.

“We will do what we can to assist,” Morley added. “Starting with how to handle the yam harvest so the serfs eat, debts get repaid, and Rastislav does not spend every penny of that harvest on debauchery in Barsoom.”

Jerold and Ljubo exchanged glances again.

“It is worse than you know, Morley,” Jerold said. “Not only does Yilanda not have a dowry, but Albion DelFino demands a bride price for his daughter. He insists on the payment of his gambling debts.”

Morley groaned. “The yam harvest coin?”

“Or possibly selling another pearl,” Jerold said. “Either way, _he_ does not care if the serfs starve.”

“If they go hungry,” Morley said carefully, “we will not get another yam harvest, nor a harvest of any other crop.”

“Why don’t we sell more pearls?” Iolanthe asked. “Selling pearls would generate much income.”

The adults all gave her pitying looks. Dimitri looked puzzled.

“I agree,” Dimitri said. “Why don’t we sell more pearls?”

“Tell your children, Jerold,” Ljubo said. “They are old enough and this place is private.” Quintana, Avery, and Morley nodded in agreement.

Jerold sighed. “Iolanthe, Dimitri. We cannot. The Pearls of Orlov are the surety behind every debt and mortgage levied on the demesne. They are the reason Orlov receives any respect at all. Each of the Pearls backs many times its value. Keeping the Pearls intact is the only reason we can continue to borrow money to keep operating the demesne. A Pearl here, a Pearl there isn’t noticed. Selling all the Pearls, no matter how discreetly we could manage it, would be like declaring we are bankrupt before all of Mars. The demesne would never recover.”

“That sounds like Orlov is a house of cards!” Iolanthe sputtered. “I know Pearls have been sold. I saw the Pearls when the last daimyah, gods rest her soul, wore them and they did not perfectly match the Pearls in Madame Orlov’s portrait.”

“We live in a castle built on sand and air, my jewel,” Jerold said. “Some of the Pearls are false. I don’t know exactly how many. Only the jeweler does. If word were to get out, we would be destroyed.”

“Papa. You exaggerate.”

“No. We’d never lose the land and everything within the demesne, down to the last serf and blade of grass. But the luxuries we are accustomed to? Credit from merchants? Government services? Our own private railroad line? Head of the line privileges wherever we go? All would be gone. We’d be as poor, no, poorer than those horse savages in the Ennaretee and Essaretee demesnes.”

“Iolanthe,” Morley said into the silence after Jerold’s painful words, “understand this. Because Orlov has been so poorly managed for three generations, we would be worse off than most demesnes on Mars. We should be wealthy by our own efforts. Our lands are rich and well-watered. Our serfs are healthy and fertile. We are on the equator, with the main railways and the major government corridor close by. We own canals and roads to move our goods. Nourz is a major market for our agriculture and provides easy access to markets elsewhere. Yet we depend on moneylenders to pay our bills.”

“It is the fault of the Pearls,” Jerold said. “The Pearls meant no one had to work hard to keep Orlov in the forefront of Mars. The Pearls guaranteed lives of ease and luxury and our last three daimyos took full advantage of them. Because of the Pearls, we owe enough coin to purchase the rest of Mars.”

Iolanthe thought about this and said, carefully, “if I understand you correctly, all of Orlov would have been better off without the Pearls?”

“You are a clever girl, Iolanthe,” auntie Quintana said. “You are correct.”

“Interesting,” Dimitri said thoughtfully.

“The Pearls have cursed us, my jewel,” Jerold said. “They should have been sold the day the family arrived on Mars from Olde Earthe and the wealth invested in the land and the free-cities. Madame Orlov loved the Pearls and wanted the set kept together as an heirloom for the family. Pearls were never sold during her lifetime. She thought of them as the talisman keeping Orlov strong.”

“She was wrong,” Ljubo said. “Just as she was wrong about wanting the daimyo to always be the oldest son of the oldest son, from her direct line. Because she was wrong, we are being punished, generations later.”

“So if the Pearls vanish, we will be ruined,” Iolanthe said.

“Yes, even more than we are now,” her father replied.

“Jerold, Ljubo,” Morley broke the silence. “We must decide what to do about the sot. He cannot marry. If he weds that unlucky DelFino girl, he may get a son on her and then we’ll have another drunken wastrel leading us instead of someone competent. We cannot afford for him to sell the yam harvest and pay Albion DelFino’s debts. We cannot afford to sell another pearl if the money raised goes to debauchery. All problems, including managing the Pearls, lead back to Rastislav.”

Jerold and Ljubo exchanged glances, then turned as one towards Morley. “Your father, Fredo, might not agree.”

“My father is a drunken wastrel, awash with regrets and despair,” Morley replied wearily. “With Rastislav gone, he might be salvageable.”

Ljubo laughed harshly.

“My son speaks true,” Avery said. “When I married Fredo, he had plans for Orlov. Rastislav undercut every one of them. He should have been appointed the daimyo and not the sot. It may not seem so to the family, but Fredo loathes the sot.”

As she spoke, Jerold took the few steps to Avery and took her hands in his, surprising her. “You deserved better, my dear. Orlov has not been kind to you.”

Avery looked away, focusing on a moonflower rather than Jerold’s concern. “I have my son. I want him to succeed and Orlov to prosper. I want my son to marry well. I want grandchildren and I want to see them happy, not sunk into despair as so many of the family are,” she replied. “Morley and I will work with you to save Orlov. I will manage Fredo. My husband will not interfere.”

“Why are you two suddenly so concerned?” Ljubo asked. “Morley, as steward, has a good idea of what the demesne needs but you, Avery, oversee our forestry efforts.”

She glanced over at her son, Morley, and he spoke for them both.

“I speak truth with my mother. The yam harvest is far better than expected. Other crops are not doing so well. What I fear, what we fear, is hunger among the serfs if the harvests are not kept to meet Orlov’s own needs. I go out on a near-daily basis to direct the serfs and I see the mutterings and resentments. There are many more serfs than there are family. They are still quiet, for now. They expect to eat well this season. I am afraid of what might happen if the yam harvest is sold. The serfs will riot if they must watch their children starve while the family remains fat.”

“I had not realized it was so bad,” Jerold said.

“We are not yet at the position of Dairapaska,” Morley said. “I don’t expect riots, unless the sot rules us worse than usual. Please, Jerold, Ljubo, keep him reined in as much as you can.”

“Do not let him marry this girl,” Avery added.

Iolanthe and Dimitri listened carefully to the conversation. Both were shocked at how open the older adults were being and at how much worse things were than they had believed.

“Papa,” Iolanthe said, breaking another silence. “But what of —” She stopped and pointed down the path. “Oh look! More of the family coming to enjoy the moonflowers and cereus. How delightful.”

Jerold leaned over and whispered, “Tonight, before you retire. Avery and Morley may care what happens to Orlov and to themselves, but your needs don’t matter to them any more than a serf’s does.”

* * *

Safely behind closed doors in her bedchamber, Iolanthe blurted out, “Papa. If the sot does not marry that unlucky DelFino girl, will her brother still accept me?”

Jerold sighed deeply and got up to pull the heavy, sound-deadening velvet drapes closed against the night. “I do not know.”

“I don’t know,” Dimitri added, from his relaxed position in Iolanthe’s favorite chair. She had to perch in a less comfortable chair, one that made her hip ache after the lengthy evening stroll through the gardens. Dimitri had assisted her up the stairs, as usual, but he hadn’t thought further.

“Despite what that rotted slice of ham said, his son, Charlton, is still a DelFino,” Dimitri said. “Some merchant will offer up a daughter and a dowry in exchange for access to the Four Hundred. The DelFino family may choose Charlton from that pack of cousins and then shunt both him and his merchant bride aside, hoping that her genes will more than counteract his father’s and his grandfather’s.”

“I fear your brother is correct in his assessment, my jewel,” Jerold said. “Charlton DelFino, when all is said and done, is a DelFino. A healthy merchant’s daughter, with a fat dowry and a hardworking, moneymaking background, would be most acceptable to them. A girl like that would be acceptable to any family within the Four Hundred.”

“But I, a daughter of the Four Hundred, am not,” Iolanthe said bitterly.

“My dearest daughter,” Jerold began.

“Papa. Let us face facts. I am crippled, I am plain, I speak plainly, and I have no dowry. If I came with the Pearls as my dowry, yes, then I could marry whom and where I chose. But I do not. Do you think I did not hear what everyone said at my finishing school in Nourz?”

“Iolanthe,” Dimitri tried to interrupt his sister.

“Don’t let that idiocy out of your mouth, brother,” she shot back. “I know what you will say, because you love me. That I, Iolanthe Orlov, am a prize, a jewel, a pearl of great price. But I am not. I know what my worth is down to the last credit in terms of a good marriage. All of us at that finishing school knew what our value was. We discussed it constantly! My penpals do the same. We could be horse traders, only we trade in ourselves. Horse traders don’t succeed if they lie to themselves about the caliber of their horses, even if they lie to their customers. I will not lie to myself.”

“My dearest girl, you say you don’t lie to yourself,” Jerold said. “If that is true, then don’t discount your intelligence and clear thinking. Those are valuable commodities.”

“Not as valuable as beauty,” Iolanthe sniffed.

“Beauty fades. Conversation, hard work, and talents do not.”

“That is so easy to say,” Iolanthe railed. “Yet a beautiful girl can marry without a dowry. The DelFino girl has no dowry other than having a face as beautiful as that of her mother, Constance Ranaglia. Ask Dimitri! Do you think he pays attention to someone like Cressida Kahn?”

“Who?” Dimitri asked.

“You have met her several times. She is a dear friend from school. A well-placed member of the Kahn family. Very smart and an astute observer of demesne and free-city politics. She is plain and shy with strangers. Perhaps you recall her cousin better. You know, Naomi Kahn?” Iolanthe said. She smirked at her brother.

Dimitri’s face lit up. “You know Naomi Kahn? She’s _gorgeous_. Her brothers wouldn’t let me near her the last time I was in Nourz to meet you at school. You have to introduce me!”

Iolanthe picked up her cane and jabbed Dimitri hard in the ribs.

“You proved my point, you oaf! Cressida is sweet and smart while her cousin, Naomi, is a stupid harpy yet who do you want to meet?”

“Ow! Quit that. I didn’t say I’d _marry_ Naomi Kahn,” Dimitri protested as he leaped out of the chair to escape his sister’s prodding cane. “I just want to meet her and maybe, well, get to know her a lot better and uh ….” He shut up, realizing what he was about to admit he wanted to do to and with Naomi Kahn in front of his little sister and father. The rumors he’d heard about her were enticingly lewd.

“I am happy to see you have some sense of discretion,” Jerold tsked. He had noticed the leer and was grateful that Dimitri had his face turned partially away from his sister.

“I’m not in the least bit surprised,” Iolanthe said. “Beauty trumps all, even for harpies like Naomi Kahn.” She had also spotted Dimitri’s leer.

“She’s not a harpy,” Dimitri said.

“Demonstrating you’ve never actually met Naomi,” Iolanthe groaned. “Wait. I take that back. She’s also a greedy harpy and if she thought she’d get her hands on the Pearls by flirting with you, she’d be just as sweet as an Orlov teacake and about as digestible.”

A bell chimed in the corridor.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Jerold said and rose to his feet. He began pacing back and forth while Iolanthe seized her favorite chair back from Dimitri.

“True,” Iolanthe agreed. “I cannot marry Charlton DelFino and escape Orlov unless the sot marries Charlton’s unlucky sister. But if the sot marries the unlucky sister, then we risk Orlov groaning under the rule of yet another worthless sack of shit from that line. The sot has, so far, not been able to father a viable child. DelFino is many, many degrees of consanguinity away from Orlov. Even so, he might not be able to father a child with her but we cannot count on being so blessed.”

“Succinct and to the point as always, my dear,” Jerold said proudly.

“Why can’t the sot have a fatal accident?” Iolanthe wondered and then flushed in embarrassment when she realized she’d said her thought aloud.

“I’ve wished for that myself,” her father said. “But the sot’s life seems charmed. His liver should have failed by now, pickled as it is.”

The room fell silent.

“What if,” Iolanthe said carefully, “the sot had an accident in Barsoom? After he marries that unlucky DelFino girl? I’d be safely married to Charlton DelFino by then.”

It was Dimitri’s turn to groan in disbelief. “You wouldn’t have to marry Charlton, if the sot was dead.”

Iolanthe gave her brother a cool look. “Has it ever once occurred to you that I would like to leave Orlov? To marry and have children of my own? To see more of Mars than just Orlov and Nourz? I write letters to my penpals, but letters are not the same as being there. Charlton DelFino, despite his sorry excuse of a father, would be a catch for me. Marrying him would put me in the heart of Mars. DelFino means near-daily access to Barsoom.” She stopped and gazed wistfully across the room at the landscape that hung on the far wall. It was a painting of the spaceport of Barsoom, a rocket glowing against the clouds as it leaped skyward. “I would like that very much, I think.”

“I could take you to Barsoom,” Dimitri offered. “With the sot gone, you wouldn’t have to marry to visit the city.” He watched his sister carefully.

Iolanthe rolled her eyes. “To repeat. I would like to marry and have children. To perhaps have a house of my own. Without a dowry like the Pearls, Charlton DelFino is the best I can do.” She set her face grimly. “His sister may have to be sacrificed so I can have my chance. Despite having a father like Albion DelFino, if she is half the beauty her mother was, Yilanda DelFino can marry as she wishes and do as she pleases. I cannot.”

“True. We will work something out, my jewel,” Jerold said. “The DelFino girl’s happiness does not compare to your own or to the safety of the demesne.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Dimitri agreed. “When I next see Charlton, I won’t tell him anything that would change his mind about Yilanda marrying the sot. She’s his sister and he wouldn’t ever want harm to come to her and if he knew what the sot was like, he’d hide her away in the jungles of DelFino forever.”

“You are the best of brothers, Dimitri, and you are the best of fathers, papa,” Iolanthe said with a warm smile. “Let us make our plans. For my own good and for the good of Orlov.”


	7. Pick a lover you like and as long as he doesn’t find out, everyone will be happy

Spring was always capricious when she danced her way up the steppes from the Equator, heading towards the northern lands and toying with the polar region. She was unreliable. Her moods were unpredictable for even the most weather-wise Hand. She lied like the fickle jade she was. She teased and flirted with warm breezes and sunny skies and then turned heartless with late frosts and freezing rains. The one true thing you could say about Spring was she could be trusted to be untrustworthy.

This spring was no exception.

Fen huddled with Coppertail under his tarp suspended between some big trees and waited patiently for the sleet, mixed with freezing rain, to stop. Rain was one thing. It was never pleasant to ride for klicks in the rain, sweating under a wool poncho and a big, broadbrimmed hat that always managed to let water drip down the back of the neck. But it could be endured. No matter how wet wool got, it kept you from freezing (up to a point) even if you did smell like sheep.

Freezing rain and sleet were killers. It wasn’t just the greater chance of hypothermia. It was the fact that the steppes were slick with an icy film. If Coppertail put a hoof wrong, he could stumble, fall, and break a leg. Fen would probably survive being dumped unceremoniously on the ground but Coppertail, his favorite gelding, would become a heap of meat in short order. Broken-legged horses didn’t live long. They couldn’t heal. The kindest, quickest, and most humane option was to cut the horse’s throat rather than watch the animal suffer in agony.

He listened to the sleet hissing down on the tarp overhead — waiting to hear a change in sound and direction that would tell him the storm was emptying itself out — and edged closer to Coppertail’s warmth. The ground was still damp, with no dry spot, but it was somewhat higher ground so he and Coppertail weren’t standing in a puddle of slowly freezing water mixed with mud. If he had judged the weather better, he’d have set up camp earlier and stayed drier.

As Fen had predicted to Dawud and Kavan, he did need that cushion of fourteen days extra travel time. He was losing time right here, waiting on a knob on the side of a low hill, his back to a high rock outcropping that blocked the wind. This particular spot was a regular camping ground for someone demonstrated by the carefully placed fir trees blocking the worst of the weather and holding up his tarp, the convenient rock outcropping behind him, and the stone fire-ring currently holding some tinder and twigs which flatly refused to catch fire. Fen was deeply happy that he’d located the shelter soon after the sleet started and he was looking for a good place to wait out the storm. By his calculations, he had barely entered Armstrong’s territory so this camping area had to have been set up in the corridor by an Armstrong crew for their own regular use. Foresighted, they had planted the fir trees a generation ago and shaped the hillside to ensure marginally drier ground when it rained.

Fen wondered if he’d meet some of Armstrong’s vassals, patrolling the government corridor between their demesne and Ozigbow, the agricultural demesne directly to the south. If what he’d been told was true, Armstrong, like Kenyatta, always had a crew or two patrolling for squatters and bandits. This location was ideal for keeping an eye on the road and the railroad lines next to it; conveniently close but carefully concealed from view. Only a Steppes Rider would locate this spot other than by accident. He had to wonder where they stabled their horses though. It didn’t seem to be here, which was puzzling.

Once past Armstrong, Krangland’s demesne was next, then Daur, bordering both the east-west corridor he was riding through and the great Pole-To-Pole corridor that ran from Southernmost through Barsoom up to Northernmost. If his luck held, the storm would blow itself out, the sleet would melt off quickly, and he could head further down the corridor to the west and the setting sun. When he made camp for the night, the ground might have even dried out some.

He had never been so far from home yet other than the stars overhead at night and Spring being further advanced, nothing around him looked much different than HighTower. An ocean of grass carpeting rolling hills didn’t vary much. Already he and Coppertail had traveled hundreds of klicks since leaving home and, until now, he’d made good time. As planned, Fen paralleled the government road with its foot-traffic and railroads, keeping a klick or so northwards so he would be close enough for easy access and far enough away so he wouldn’t be noticed. As advertised, each Martian government waystation supplied clean water and mil-rats. It was humiliating to eat mil-rats like most of the foot-travelers had to, but they were fast and free. Hunting took time and if he’d wanted to eat his own familiar food all the way to Barsoom, he would have had to bring a string of packhorses to carry it all. One horse, Coppertail, was all he could afford to board in a livery stable in Barsoom. Not a dozen.

The sleet hissed down on the tarp, showing no signs of stopping. Coppertail, equally glad to be out of the weather, suddenly lifted his head from the grass he’d been inspecting and whickered.

Fen tensed and, as he instantly understood he should have been doing all along, started listening for sounds other than sleet and freezing rain drumming down on the tarp and hissing through the fir trees. There were some open lines of sight into the surroundings, planned and kept clear by whoever built the campsite, but he was only one person, not a crew. He swiveled slowly, moving his eyes from one line of sight to the next, and there it was.

A moving gray shadow off in the sleet and low to the ground working its way down the hillside, followed by another gray shadow.

Coppertail whickered again and stamped a hoof but his horse, Fen was glad to see, didn’t seem panicked. He heard a sharp, single word command, its meaning lost in the sleet, but familiar albeit in a strange accent.

A dog barked, a deep hunting bark, and he backed up against Coppertail and waited. He knew similar barks and yes, two of the wolf-dogs of the Ennaretee leaped out of the curtain of sleet, trapping him and Coppertail against the rock outcropping. As long as he didn’t move and waited for the dogs’ masters, he’d be fine. The dogs growled but they knew their business: they waited, pacing before him and Coppertail with teeth bared, but they didn’t attack. If anything, they seemed happy to be out of the sleet. They did their best to remain under the tarp, down to their tails.

Coppertail wasn’t happy, but he was familiar with this type of dog. HighTower had their own packs and he had been trained to work with them. “Shh, there’s a good boy,” Fen said, stroking the horse’s nose and flanks to show how calm he was and that there was nothing to fear. The horse showed his teeth and stomped his hooves, shifting restlessly whenever a dog got too close but he didn’t want to run out into the sleet either.

“Where’s your fire, lad?” a voice called out in a harsh accent.

“Couldn’t get it started in the sleet,” Fen called back. “You Armstrong? If you’re not, you’d better be Kenyatta or Satran or we got a problem.”

“And who might you be?” the voice called back.

“I’m Fenrick HighTower.”

“HighTower? You’re a long way from home.”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Fenrick HighTower? Not Fenrick _of_ HighTower?”

“That is correct, sir. I am Fenrick HighTower. My father is Borvo HighTower. I’m doing a job for him. Who are you?”

“Pello, Hand of Kenyatta, and my crew.”

“You’re a long ways from home too,” Fen called back. “You part of that deal that Remus made with the daimyo of Shelleen over the Red Mercury Lode?”

“We are. Otherwise we wouldn’t be standing around in the sleet in the corridor this far from home.”

Fen got the hint. “Come on in under the tarp. It’ll be a tight squeeze but you and your lads should be able to fit. Get you out of the sleet,” he called back. “I would very much appreciate it if you could get the fire started. It would not cooperate for me.”

“You don’t have enough practice in all kinds of weather, yeah?” Pello said as he stepped under the tarp. He was a head taller than Fen, his dark hair half-hidden under a broad brimmed hat, his beard frosted over, and his size partially concealed by a bulky, rain-shedding poncho.

Fen’s eyes darted at once to Pello’s string of beads hanging free at his left temple and poncho sigil. Yes, he was a Hand of Kenyatta as he claimed and, reassuringly, the two lads coming under the tarp after him wore Kenyatta’s symbols as well.

“Yeah. Welcome,” Fen said. “If you can get the fire going, I’m carrying tea to warm us all up.”

“Gregor,” Pello said. “See what you can do with that fire, soon as I get the dogs shaken out.” He said a sharp word to the dogs and, as one, all the men stepped back and away, clearing a space for the two dogs to shake themselves free of clinging sleet and freezing rain.

“Yes, sir,” the younger of Pello’s crew answered. As soon as the dogs stopped shaking and went to lie in a heap by Pello’s feet (monopolizing the driest patch of ground), Gregor knelt over the tiny pile of tinder and twigs that Fen hadn’t been able to light. Within a few minutes, he got the fire going, bringing an added spark of warmth to the cluster gathered under the tarp.

“What about your horses?” Fen asked. They had to be _somewhere_ , yet there wasn’t so much as a nicker, acknowledging Coppertail. Nor were they sticking their noses under the tarp, overjoyed to get out of the sleet like the dogs had been.

“The other side of the hill has a shelter just for them,” Pello said. “You missed it entirely. We were heading towards that shelter when we spotted you. Tell me why you’re out here when Kavan and Dawud of HighTower are supposed to be dickering with Remus over horses and enjoying hospitality even as we speak. You run off?”

“No, sir. I’m doing a job for my dad and I didn’t have time to spend in Kenyatta. I built in a time cushion for problems like weather and well,” Fen spread his hands in dismay, “you can see why I did. Pello, if you would make my apologies to the daimyo when you see him, I’d be most appreciative.” Damnation. He hadn’t wanted Remus Kenyatta to discover he was in the area and ignoring the ruling family and now the daimyo would.

“I’ll think on it,” Pello said. “You are not on walkabout?”

“No, sir,” Fen said. “I’m heading to Barsoom to drop off a package for the daimyo and to vote in the zemstvo. Kavan and Dawud know all about it.” There. Now Pello knew that representatives of HighTower knew what he was doing and could guess approximately where he was if he vanished into the steppes without further word. There didn’t seem to be a reason, yet, to inform Pello that Fen regularly dropped a postcard into a waystation’s mailbox when he got water for himself and Coppertail. Those postcards would provide HighTower with a record of where he had been and where to start searching when they stopped arriving.

Pello pursed his lips, looking sharply at Fen. “I’d heard HighTower was having money troubles. The daimyo’s youngest son riding the corridor all the way to Barsoom and back instead of buying a third-class round-trip train ticket and a rented bunk demonstrates that I was told true.”

Fen stiffened and forced a smile. “Yes, sir. You heard true.” Damnation. The word about HighTower’s problems had spread further than he had guessed.

“Let’s talk over tea while we wait for the sleet to settle down.” Pello stepped over a dog and walked the few steps to the edge of the tarp and gazed upwards at the gray, heavy clouds shifting overhead and emptying themselves out. “Sleet should stop in another hour or so.”

“I’d like to know what to expect in the corridor up to the Pole-To-Pole road, Pello,” Fen said. “And if you’re familiar with the Pole-To-Pole, I would appreciate your thoughts there too.”

“You’ll get them.”

Pello gave Fen’s makeshift camp a considering look, along with how he’d loaded Coppertail. Then he said a few low words to the older of the lads in his crew who darted back out into the sleet.

“Letting your steppes partner know where you are?” Fen guessed based on the age of the young men, teenagers really, who weren’t any older than he was. Pello was noticeably older, as would be expected, but he was alone.

“I am.”

Damnation. This Hand of Kenyatta knew how to keep his damn-fool mouth shut and he wasn’t going to be helpful.

Gregor had gotten a nice fire burning, adding a welcome warmth along with curls of smoke collecting underneath the tarp. He’d also put on a rocket-stove to boil water. He gave a significant look to Fen who got the message and began rooting around in a saddlebag to find his mint tea.

A few minutes later, all three men had produced kuksas and the smell of mint tea joined the scents of woodsmoke, wet fir needles, wet horse, wet dogs, wet men, mud, and wet wool collecting under the tarp.

“May I ask how you heard about HighTower’s troubles?” Fen said, wanting to get a conversation started. Pello already knew more about him than he did about all of Kenyatta.

“My wife’s third cousin, once removed, is wed to Kavan’s brother,” Pello explained. “She keeps us up to date.”

“Ah,” Fen said, correctly interpreting another test to see if he was who he said he was. “That would be Mavis, married to Norman.” Pello wouldn’t have missed the few beads he wore at his left temple and the HighTower sigil etched into his heavy wool poncho confirming his own identity, along with the HighTower brand on Coppertail’s hindquarters. Or the identity of whomever he had stolen the gear and the horse from, but a bandit wouldn’t know who Kavan’s relatives were.

“Indeed it would be. I understand the Hands of HighTower are not as happy as they could be.”

“No, sir,” Fen said and sighed deeply. “They are not. I can’t fix that yet, but I can fix our current trouble. When will you be heading back to Kenyatta? Or are you on your way to Armstrong?”

Pello grinned suddenly. “I have the freedom to choose as I need to, as long as I keep Kenyatta informed. I think, based on your lack of fire-starting abilities, inability to find a horse shelter, and string a tarp properly, the lads and I will see you further west on your journey. Up to Krangland’s borders for certain. After that, we’ll see.”

“I would appreciate that,” Fen said. “I keep learning how much I don’t know. I have to stay alive and reach Barsoom.”

A thought struck him. “How do you keep Kenyatta informed? Letters sent from waystations take time and sending a rider would leave you a man short, along with taking even more time.”

“Pigeons, Fenrick. I’m carting around a cageful for Armstrong, Kenyatta, and Satran each, as well as one for Shelleen.”

Fen chuckled. “I begged off on hauling around a cage of pigeons. You must be dragging an apprentice Pigeon-Master with you to care for all those birds, especially in this weather.”

“I am indeed and that lad is sitting snug in the shelter with the horses and those damned noisy, shitting birds,” Pello said. He was visibly starting to relax.

Fen could feel his own taut nerves loosen. He didn’t relish a fight; not in the close quarters under the tarp with the experienced fighter Pello undoubtedly was and especially not with the two dogs, now huddled as close to the fire as they could get. The dogs would tear him apart if given the word. Pello’s young vaquero wouldn’t stand idly by either.

“Ho the camp!” a voice called. The lad Pello had sent out had returned, bringing with him Pello’s steppes partner, Helion. The bigger shelter for the horses was even closer than he thought. Fen wanted to wince at his beginner’s mistake. Too late now.

* * *

Lannie smiled and smiled and smiled as Ulla launched into her daily lecture describing her utter and total incompetence. Inwardly, she seethed. Weeks of Ulla’s screeching company had not made her easier to bear, especially as she was always _right_. The manor house was much cleaner, rooms were being refurbished out of the abandoned attics, bed linens and floors no longer crunched; even the air was fresher after the stables had been scraped clean and the kitchen middens turned. The housekeeper had hidden her gin, the maids were scrubbing long-neglected corners, and the footmen had stopped wasting their days over dice with the decrepit butler.

Only the meals remained unchanged.

Lannie let her mind drift, giving her a topic that did allow her to smile pleasantly at her cousin. Ulla had, but only once, set foot in Cook’s domain to tell her how to run her kitchens. The daimyo’s chosen representative had not intimidated _Cook_ the way she had everyone else in the manor house. Cook brooked no interference from anyone and she made sure Ulla knew it. A fresh, raw gouge from a thrown cleaver marked the other side of the swinging door followed by a torrent of curses that, weeks later, still hung in the air. For her part, Lannie had chosen not to warn Ulla, another bone of contention between the two of them and one that Ulla would never forgive.

Still, it had been worth it to watch (from a safe distance) Ulla smack the swinging doors apart and march into the kitchen making her demands of Cook as she entered, scream in mortal terror when the pots and knives started flying, and flee to the safety of an upstairs guest bedchamber where she cowered for the rest of the afternoon. That had been the only pleasant afternoon Lannie had enjoyed since Ulla and Walter had arrived.

As soon as Ulla turned her back to point out yet another housekeeping discrepancy, Lannie ran for it, leaving Ulla to lecture an empty room.

* * *

“Hiding again?” Charlton hissed. He had yanked the door open and peered inside.

“You bet I am,” Lannie hissed back. She caught the sound of furious footsteps and whispered, “she’ll hear us and then this hiding spot will be lost for both of us. Get in quick!”

The third-floor linen closet, containing bedding for the servants, was out of the way and tucked around the bend of the narrow hallway. It was a tight fit for both of them, but they managed, breathing as quietly as possible.

The sound of footsteps receded back down the hallway, along with some very unladylike swearing from Ulla.

By unspoken accord, Lannie and Charlton waited to make sure Ulla left and wasn’t trying to trick them. She was, in addition to being aggressively and annoyingly competent, clever. The daimyo of DelFino had not made a mistake with his chosen representative.

After another five minutes or so, squeezed up against stacks of linens, Lannie dared to say, “gleesh. The stablehands don’t swear like Ulla just did.”

“Actually,” Charlton contradicted her, “they cuss all the time, just not around you. Which leads me to ask how Ulla learned that vocabulary since she’s klicks higher up the DelFino food chain than you or me. I can’t believe a stablehand would ever dare swear around her.”

“Really, Charlton?” Lannie said. “You can say something that stupid knowing how that harpy operates?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Charlton put his ear to the door, and hearing nothing, opened it cautiously. He was rewarded with an empty hallway. “She’d piss them off enough to lose control.”

He stepped out, looked up and down more carefully, and said, “coast is clear. Come on out.”

Lannie stepped out herself. Prior to Ulla and Walter’s visit, she would never have believed her brother. Since Ulla and Walter’s arrival, the siblings were discovering how much they had in common.

“Lannie?”

“Yeah?”

“You know how I always said you were a harpy?” Charlton said.

“Way too often,” Lannie replied.

“I was wrong.”

Lannie whipped around to stare at her brother.

“Ulla is a harpy. You aren’t even a baby harpy compared to her. She even sounds like a harpy with that screechy voice of hers.” He shuddered theatrically. “I pity whoever she marries.”

“Thank you, Charlton,” Lannie answered in surprise. “That’s very nice of you.”

“You know the Orlov harpy I’m supposed to marry? She can’t be as bad as Ulla.”

“Probably not,” Lannie reassured him. “The daimyo of Orlov, on the other hand, keeps getting worse and worse.”

“Mama’s health,” Charlton hissed, angry again. “Remember her?”

“Call me selfish, Charlton, but _my_ health is what I’m worried about. I got a letter from Shondra. Did you know that of Rastislav’s three wives, two of them divorced him? They fled without a penny of settlement so they could escape quicker.”

“Oh. That sounds bad.” Charlton paused. “What happened to the other wife?”

“He _beat_ her to death,” Lannie said. “He’s been marrying the daughters of rich merchants for the dowries so the stories haven’t been buzzing around the Four Hundred. Shondra found out for me.”

Charlton turned on his sister. “You are _sure_ of this?”

“That’s what Shondra wrote,” Lannie replied.

“Shondra’s not what I would call reliable, especially after her own messy divorce,” Charlton scoffed. “She said all kinds of wild things about her ex-husband.”

“Because those wild things were true, Charlton,” Lannie said. “That’s why the Sakamoto family let her go _with_ her daughters. You think any Four Hundred family will let a wife go _with_ the kids after a divorce? Especially a low-level dog-breeding merchant’s daughter? Any kids stay with the Four Hundred.”

“Hmm,” Charlton said as he contemplated the astonishing fact that his sister might be right. “That’s true.”

“And they gave her a settlement,” Lannie added.

“Didn’t know that,” Charlton said, shocked to his core. “Wait a minute. You must be lying or I’d know this.”

“She signed all sorts of confidentiality paperwork to get the settlement money so not that many people know. Shondra told me and I’m telling you in the strictest confidence so you better not blab,” Lannie threatened.

Charlton thought for a few, precious minutes, knowing they needed to get out of the hallway in case Ulla returned, bringing reinforcements. He had learned to his cost that the burly servants the daimyo of DelFino had assigned to Walter and Ulla really enjoyed pushing young scions of the Four Hundred around. He had boxing experience but, as the burly servants kept proving, not quite enough.

“I’ll ask around,” he conceded. “See what I can find about Rastislav.”

“I’d like that,” Lannie said. “I love mama, but I’m not willing to be beaten to death to save her life. I don’t think she’d want me to do that either. I hope you feel the same.”

“I wish she’d get better.”

“I know.” Lannie sighed, the sound filling the otherwise silent, narrow hallway. “At least she’s not getting any worse. Nothing is changing.” She diplomatically ignored Charlton’s lack of concern over her own health. Their usual noisy argument might alert Ulla as to where they were lurking.

“That’s the only good thing that’s been happening,” Charlton muttered.

A floorboard creaked and sister and brother went still; rabbits hearing the tread of a fox’s paws.

“Ah- _hah_!” Ulla pranced around the bend in triumph. “I knew you were hiding here. Men, drag them down to the dining room.”

“Run,” Charlton said, stepping out and shoving his sister behind him and towards the empty hallway. “I’ll hold them off.”

Lannie fled down the narrow hallway. There was a drainpipe on the empty back bedroom’s exterior wall that would allow her to escape to the gardens surrounding the manor house and not reappear until dinner. Ulla would have cooled off by then, probably by taking out her fury on Charlton. Damnation. She stopped at the sound of shouting and a struggle behind her, and turned, facing back the way she had come.

“Quit that fighting right now!” she shouted as she ran back. “You win, Ulla. I surrender.”

Ulla, to Lannie’s immense surprise, didn’t gloat as she had expected.

“Thank you. Let’s get back to work.”

Charlton twisted his neck to better see his sister and said, “what the heck is wrong with you, Lannie.” The two burly servants pinning him to the floor did not let him up. They didn’t have any bruises, although it was clear Charlton would be sore for a few days from this fight.

She looked down at Charlton.

“I’m not going to run out on you.”

“Don’t run out on mama,” Charlton replied and his sister looked away, down the narrow hallway that led to freedom.

* * *

Another unpleasant day.

Walter and Charlton had gotten into a fistfight in the morning, although neither of them would admit why. Albion who had been sailing through each day as though Walter and Ulla had never arrived at all, chose to grill Charlton over lunch about why he was finally showing some promise in running an estate for DelFino after being such an incompetent slacker.

Later that afternoon, Albion went after Lannie, but as with his harassment of Charlton, he chose to pester his daughter in front of witnesses.

“Your mother isn’t doing any better. Why are you still delaying your marriage to the daimyo of Orlov, young lady?” he’d snarled.

“Because I’m underage and that makes it illegal, daddy? Could that be why?” Lannie snapped back. Their conversation was humiliating enough but to have to admit what her father was pushing her into in front of Ulla was worse.

“DelFino won’t provide proper care for your mother,” Albion replied pointing at Ulla, who was watching the exchange with open disapproval. “It’s up to you to make things right since they won’t.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a liar, Albion,” Ulla sneered as she inserted herself into the conversation, “the family would trust you and you wouldn’t have to pimp out your own daughter.”

Rather than have to agree with Ulla, Lannie stormed out of the room, near tears, and ran upstairs to see her mother, placidly embroidering a new series of flame lilies in her solarium studio. Constance floated above the turmoil in the manor house, not seeming to notice at all what was swirling around her. She had always been detached, but her dreaminess was getting worse.

“Mama,” Lannie cried as she ran to her mother’s chair in the pool of sunlight. “I can’t marry that man. He’s older than daddy!”

“Oh my darling,” Constance said, putting down her embroidery to stroke her daughter’s hair. “This is your chance to make something of yourself. Rastislav is the daimyo of Orlov. You’ll be his daimyah and rule all of Orlov.”

Lannie lifted her head to stare at her still stunningly beautiful mother.

“Mama, did you hear anything I said?”

“Silly girl. I certainly did,” Constance returned with a flash of spirit. “You’re refusing to seize a golden ring that you’ll never get otherwise. The daimyah, Yilanda. You’ll be the daimyah and wear those luscious pearls.”

“Mama,” Lannie said in a carefully neutral voice. “I don’t think you fully understand the situation.”

Her mother coughed daintily, then coughed harder. Lannie got up and fetched her mother a cup of her tisane. It had been, she was ashamed to admit, Ulla’s idea to set up a small spirit stove, a teakettle, a pitcher of water, and a collection of mugs in the solarium so Constance could have a ready supply of her special tisane without having to wait for someone to respond to her summons, then trek to the kitchens, boil water, and bring the tisane back, cooling with every step. It had been Ulla who had insisted that the servants’ bells be repaired, starting with the one in Constance’s solarium, ensuring she was moments away from assistance if she needed anything.

Ulla constantly showed up Lannie for the inconsiderate slacker she was.

Constance sipped her tisane delicately and smiled beatifically at Lannie. “I understand perfectly. You’re a modest young girl and the realities of married life can be, well, confusing. However, it is your duty to marry well for your own benefit and for the benefit of DelFino. Rastislav Orlov is a wonderful man and you’ll make a wonderful daimyah for him.”

“Mama. He’s been married three times before!”

“Merchant’s daughters, dearest. Those girls aren’t part of the Four Hundred and that’s why they didn’t work out as the daimyah for poor Rastislav,” Constance replied.

“Mama. He beat one of his wives to death!”

“That is rude, terrible gossip. I am surprised at you, Yilanda, believing such a dreadful lie.”

“It’s not a lie. Shondra told me.”

“Well, Shondra is a merchant’s daughter, not one of us,” Constance said and sipped more of her tisane. She began coughing again but this time, it took several long moments for the fit to pass and it left her with shaking hands and a grayish pallor.

“You see, Yilanda?” Albion declaimed from the doorway. “Your mama _needs_ you to marry the daimyo of Orlov. How are you, my darling? Better, I hope? I’ve had the village apothecary formulate a new tisane for you. This one is sure to ease your throat.” Albion strode over, holding a beautifully wrapped box from the apothecary.

“Oh, Albion,” Constance purred, gazing up at her husband. He was still the handsomest man she had ever seen. “You take such good care of me.”

“Because you are worth everything on Mars to me, my darling,” Albion replied and leaned over to kiss her. Constance wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer.

“I’ll just be going now,” Lannie said. “I can see I’m in the way.”

On her way downstairs, she met Ulla, who must have chased after her as her father had and then laid in wait for her chance.

“You probably haven’t thought of this, because you never think,” Ulla said, cornering Lannie on the landing where she couldn’t escape. She prodded Lannie in the chest with a sharp, perfectly manicured and enameled fingertip.

“I think all the time,” Lannie said through tight lips. Her back was pressed up against the wall, making it impossible to escape Ulla’s sharp and regrettably accurate tongue and jabbing fingertip.

“Not as far as I can tell. You’re going to marry Rastislav. That’s set in stone because it’s good for DelFino, for your mother, and for you,” Ulla said. “Shut up and listen to me! Once you’ve given him an heir, you don’t have to have much to do with him. He’s old and creaky.”

“I know he’s old and creaky. That’s part of the problem,” Lannie snapped.

Ulla rolled her eyes. “You are so naïve. Old and creaky means he’s easier to manage. He’ll be tired all the time so he won’t make demands on you. Give him his warm cocoa and a teething biscuit every night, tuck him into bed, and leave. Once he’s fathered a child, you can stop having anything to do with the geezer.”

Lannie made gagging motions. “You do understand that I’m going to have to go to bed with him as often as it takes to get pregnant, right? I do know how the process works.”

“Oh, Lannie,” Ulla groaned and rolled her eyes more. “Who says _he_ has to be the father? Pick a lover _you_ like and as long as _he_ doesn’t find out, everyone will be happy.”

Lannie opened her mouth and closed it when she realized she couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response to her cousin.

Ulla took pity on her. “Like I said. Rastislav is old and creaky. He must be past fifty! He can probably barely get it up anymore. He hasn’t been able to father a single, living child, even with three different wives. Give him a baby, discreetly, and he won’t ask questions about where it came from as long as he can pretend it was his seed.”

“You really believe that?” Lannie stuttered. “He beat one of his wives to death.”

“That is hearsay. You don’t really know.”

“Yes, I do. Shondra told me.”

Ulla shrugged. “I wouldn’t put much faith in Shondra. She never fit into Sakamoto. She’s not one of us.”

“Yeah. She’s got more sense. I cannot believe for one minute that a daimyo wouldn’t punish a wife he thought was cheating on him,” Lannie shot back.

“Oh Lannie,” Ulla said and rolled her eyes again. “If a man wants an heir and he’s sterile, he’s not going to ask questions about the source of a healthy baby as long as his wife is discreet.”

“You are delusional, Ulla,” Lannie said.

“No, Lannie. You are. Orlov, for whatever beyond stupid reason, uses primogeniture to choose the daimyo instead of being sensible like DelFino. Rastislav has to have an heir and he hasn’t been able to get one himself. That’s where you and someone you choose come in. Get it?” Ulla smiled beatifically at Lannie. “As soon as you catch a baby, you don’t ever need to let _him_ fumble around on top of you again. You can do it.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Fine. Let’s talk about a properly supervised household laundry instead. Orlov Castle must generate mountains every day and you’ll be ultimately responsible.” Lightning fast, Ulla grabbed Lannie’s hand and dragged her down the stairs to where their own manor house’s laundry facilities lay waiting.

Laundry management turned out to be as soggy and steaming hot as Lannie had feared, justifying why she had always avoided it in the past. Ulla, damn her eyes though, was right again. Someone had to supervise the laundry or the laundresses worked in the most haphazard manner. Clean sheets and clean clothes on a regular basis were very nice but they refused to appear on their own.

Dinner was no relief from the strains of the day.

Walter and Charlton pointedly ignored each other and refused to talk to anyone else. Walter’s black eye was off-putting to look at, as were the fresh scabs on Charlton’s knuckles.

Albion and Constance billed and cooed at each other, that is, when she wasn’t coughing. They also wouldn’t speak to anyone else.

Ulla monopolized the conversation, such as it was, to further lecture Lannie on proper handling of fine linens using the table napkins to illustrate her points about the importance of immediate stain removal. The tablecloth stains came in for their own discussion.

Lannie listened to Ulla sermonize about mopping up spilled wine with soda-water and stale bread but only because it kept her from thinking about what it would be like to share a bed with old and creaky Rastislav Orlov. What a disgusting concept. Couldn’t she choose someone young and handsome that she liked? Her mother had. Yet Ulla seemed to think she should marry Rastislav, then choose a young and handsome lover, and more importantly, get away with it. Not officially of course. She’d just run the risk of being beaten to death if she got caught.

And none of her actions, chosen or not, made sure her mother would recover from what ailed her. 


	8. Do you want the daimyo to perish while you dither?

My Gods! Iolanthe thought. We’re saved.

She gasped aloud in theatrical horror, while clasping her hands under the desk to keep from thrusting them skywards in triumph.

To the plump, bosomy maid (Rastislav’s current and now openly favored bedwarmer to the disgust of many other residents of Orlov Castle, both high and low) who was delivering the news, she said, “did you fetch the doctor first, I hope, before informing me?”

“Uh,” the maid stammered. “You were the closest member of the family, my lady. The first person I knew I could find.” Despite Rastislav’s open favoritism and the subsequent improvement in her status, the maid couldn’t bring herself to address Iolanthe and directed her remarks to the potted palm tree besides the desk.

The maid’s story could be true since at this time of day, Iolanthe always audited the household accounts in the office set aside for the purpose. It let her rest her leg after the morning’s activities. Moreover, everyone else in the family would be busy at this time of day; scattered around the castle, its estates, or somewhere within the vast demesne of Orlov, the free-city of Nourz, or even farther afield performing all the tasks necessary to see to its running. The servants would likewise be busy so fetching in person could be faster than ringing bells, waiting for a response, and subsequent explanations.

“Run and get the doctor at once,” Iolanthe said firmly. “I believe Lady Bettina is attending to my Lord Fredo in the far east wing. He had a bilious attack. Fetch her right now, you foolish girl. Do you want the daimyo to perish while you dither?”

“No, miss,” the maid muttered and fled the tiny office.

Iolanthe sat back and, with great effort, kept herself from whooping with glee. Until she knew the details of the situation for certain, it was best to remain circumspect. Rastislav might be seeking a chance to legitimately banish her or the maid (very disheveled in her appearance) might be mistaken as to the severity of his illness. Had she provided an adequate and plausible reason for sending the maid to the far east wing of Orlov Castle? Yes, Uncle Fredo had been noticeably ill the last few days so a severe bilious attack would not be unusual.

How fortunate that Auntie Bettina, the head of the Orlov family’s small medical staff, was actually in the stables seeing to setting and wrapping up the broken arm of a groom. By the time she was located and rushed to the sot’s side, he could be dead.

What a wonderful thought: Rastislav dead and without an heir. The family could choose another member as daimyo, perhaps even papa or Uncle Ljubo. Morley would perform well too, Iolanthe thought as she quickly ran down the list of eligible family members, although he was young and needed seasoning. She suddenly understood why Cressida Kahn had admitted choosing the best candidate from many could cause infighting among branches of the family. On the other hand, a family squabble was nothing compared to the damage Rastislav and his line had done to Orlov.

So many, many good things flowed from Rastislav’s death. His line was permanently ended. The unlucky DelFino girl could choose a husband of her own rather than be married off to the sot. Orlov coin would not be wasted paying Albion DelFino’s debts. If Pearls were sold, it would be to save the demesne.

She, Iolanthe, might be granted a tiny dowry, since her own mother’s had long since been spent. The idea was dazzling.

The family matchmaker, auntie Gladys, would finally be permitted to shop her around and, if she was lucky, find several candidates for a potential husband. She wouldn’t be married off to Charlton DelFino, sight unseen. She could choose.

She couldn’t reach as high as Charlton DelFino, of course. That door would slam shut the moment Albion DelFino discovered he wasn’t able to sell his own daughter to the sot. He certainly wouldn’t want plain, crippled Iolanthe Orlov with her tiny dowry to marry his son no matter what Dimitri had said. As a DelFino, he would look higher, probably to some unlucky merchant’s daughter with a fat dowry Albion could then steal from his son, Charlton.

Constance DelFino might not receive the medical care she needed since finding heiresses and the subsequent theft of their dowries took time. She might die. That was sad, Iolanthe supposed, but many situations were. If Albion, Constance’s husband, had done better by his wife, he wouldn’t have to sell a daughter to someone like Rastislav Orlov. Iolanthe decided she wouldn’t waste time feeling guilty over Constance DelFino, not when Rastislav’s death meant freedom and happiness to so many other people.

She would be granted a tiny measure of freedom herself. Papa and Dimitri would see to it. She could leave Orlov, marry, have the chance of children, see more of Mars than Orlov, the finishing school in Nourz, and written descriptions from books and penpals. With any luck at all, her life would improve immeasurably. She might marry a man who would come to care about her, possibly even love her.

Iolanthe forcibly stopped herself from useless fancies and glanced at the fussy ormolu clock on the mantle, ticking away her life with each soft click of its hands. She needed to look like she was helping save Rastislav’s life. It would be just like the sot to refuse to do the right thing by the family and die of apoplexy. If he survived, he would be sure to heap blame on everyone who didn’t leap to his assistance.

She struggled to her feet, grabbed her cane, and made her way out into the grand hallway to look for someone to come, slowly, to the daimyo’s rescue. Cripples like her couldn’t move fast so she didn’t hurry, but she moved fast enough to not arouse suspicion in case anyone was watching. Iolanthe prayed with every step that the sot was already dead, being prodded with red-hot pitchforks as he so richly deserved.

If Rastislav was dead, he had finally done something to benefit all of Orlov.

* * *

“Gleesh,” Charlton said in disbelief. “Ulla said that?”

Lannie had spent days stewing over Ulla’s suggestion that she find a lover and present the daimyo of Orlov with a baby whose conception he had little or nothing to do with. Who else was there to talk to besides Charlton? None of her friends lived anywhere close. The servants openly disdained her and her situation and it wasn’t their business in the first place. She shuddered at the concept of bringing up such a topic with either of their parents. She’d already written Shondra but letters took their own sweet time in the mail and a response took even longer. Lannie’s eighteenth birthday was fast approaching and she was running out of time.

She finally located Charlton in the library. He had taken to disappearing into it every evening, rather than join her, Walter, Ulla, Albion, and Constance in a wide variety of parlor games. It was strange because Charlton didn’t care for reading and he was very good at charades, almost as good as their father.

Maybe he had unearthed the old picture books, left over from toddlerhood. That was about the extent of his literacy, as attested to by every tutor Charlton ever had.

“She sure did,” Lannie replied. “A lover! I’m not even married. I’ve never even, uh…” She shut her mouth, feeling her entire body flame with embarrassment.

Charlton stared at her and then made retching motions. “Not another word on that subject, Lannie. I really don’t want to know.”

Lannie spun around in her distress. “I just can’t believe it. Ulla’s always so practical.”

“Well,” Charlton said slowly. “She is being practical. It would solve both your problems. The daimyo of Orlov would get his heir and you wouldn’t have to, um…” He winced, shut up, and winced again.

“Be pawed at by some geezer?” Lannie snarled. “What if the baby was a girl? What then? I’d have to do it again! And again! And again, until I gave birth to a boy!”

Charlton looked distinctly uncomfortable, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “With your lover, Lannie, and I cannot believe I am saying such a thing to my little sister.”

“ _And_ with that creaky old geezer daimyo of Orlov!” Lannie shrieked. “He’s probably not senile enough to believe I could catch a baby without him being present in the bed at least _once_ in a while.”

“Uh,” Charlton said, trying to look anywhere in the library but at his furious sister.

“The entire idea is dee-sgusting! I won’t do it. I will not marry that man if he was the last man on Mars.”

Charlton leaped to his feet, back on safe ground.

“Then mama will die!”

“Let her!” Lannie screamed back. “I’ll die if I have to marry Rastislav Orlov!”

“Her death will be on your conscience!”

“It should be on _daddy’s_ conscience and you know it! What have _you_ been doing, Charlton? Hiding in the library looking for books with more pictures than words?”

“I have been working constantly with Walter, that mealy-mouthed stuffed-shirt, lying prig,” Charlton roared back. “You think Ulla is bad? Walter’s right every single damn time, he knows everything there is to know about running a demesne and he makes me feel like a clod, but I’m doing it because yes, this is what I’m doing to help mama! Maybe if I can run our corner of DelFino better, then the family will pay for mama to go to Barsoom to the Great Hospital.”

Lannie stepped back, managing to stop herself from kicking Charlton in the shins as she desperately wanted to. He was right. He worked constantly with Walter, who was just as annoyingly and aggressively competent at everything as Ulla was. Charlton didn’t run off to hide nearly as much as, she was ashamed to admit, she did.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” Lannie made herself say. “You’ve been working as hard with Walter as I have been with Ulla. I didn’t know that if you ran our portion of DelFino better, the family might be more helpful with mama.”

Charlton forced his hands to unfist and fell back into the chair. “Maybe. I’m trying. It needs to be done anyway.” He sighed gustily. “Every day I go out with Walter and discover new depths to dad’s incompetence. Grandfather wasn’t much better. I’m constantly surprised Zachary didn’t send our entire branch packing with just the clothes on our backs. I’m amazed our peasants haven’t burned the manor house to the ground while we sleep. I’m shocked Cook hasn’t poisoned us to get someone more competent assigned here.”

Lannie bit her lip, thinking over everything Ulla was teaching her. Mama hadn’t done anything to keep the manor house running. Charlton wasn’t exaggerating. It was especially shocking Cook hadn’t poisoned the lot of them. She was more than capable as well as having no qualms about killing things on a routine basis. How different were people from chickens and rabbits other than size?

“Maybe we’re just not good DelFinos,” she mumbled.

“Gleesh, Lannie,” Charlton sneered. “We are trying, aren’t we? Dad and mama are lazy, I’m sorry to say. Neither of them are stupid. They just don’t care. I don’t know why. I care, so I’m trying.”

“Then why hadn’t you been trying earlier?” Lannie taunted, back on familiar ground. “You could have been running our corner of DelFino all along, every time you flunk out and come home. Daddy wouldn’t have stopped you.”

Charlton leaped back to his feet and grabbed Lannie’s arm, looming over her. “I _have_ been trying, but I don’t know anything and it’s not like I can ask the peasants for detailed instructions. I mean I do, but it’s not like they confide in me, and I’m starting from zero because I failed so much in school.”

“Let go of my arm,” Lannie said icily.

He did and stepped back, heading for his chair, the most comfortable one in the library.

She darted around him, got there first and sat down fast, keeping Charlton from the chair.

“Gleesh, Lannie,” Charlton said, annoyed all over again. “Do you want a fight that bad?”

“What am I sitting on?” Lannie said, distracted by how uncomfortable the chair had suddenly become.

“No, wait,” Charlton said. His expression snapped from righteous fury to anxiety and shame.

“You have been looking at picture books!” Lannie crowed in triumph and dragged a heavy, leather-bound tome out from under the cushions.

Charlton looked away, his turn to be embarrassed.

“This isn’t a picture book,” Lannie said, puzzled by its size and weight and plain blue back. “Aha! It must be a _dirty_ book, you cad, with _dirty_ pictures.”

“I guess you could call it a book about dirt,” Charlton said and smirked at his sister. It was his only option. Grabbing the book away would make her scream hysterically and attract more unwanted attention to what he was doing in the library. They had already made plenty of noise, but an argument was normal for them and usually ignored.

Infuriated by his expression, she grinned at her brother, turned the book face up, held it up to the light and read the title out.

“Estate Management from A to Z,” Lannie declaimed, not bothering to parse out what she’d said as she began flipping through the pages. “Wait a minute. They’re talking about soil, uh, management?” She peered more closely at a detailed diagram of roots penetrating the different levels of soil, each carefully drawn stratum and part labeled with a word she didn’t know.

“Like I said, it’s a book about dirt.”

Lannie thought of all the times she’d caught Charlton in the library, hastily shoving a book back on the shelf and made the connection.

“You’ve been reading books about running a demesne?”

“And stewardship, managing peasants, livestock, crop rotation, and everything else,” her brother admitted. “It’s been a slog. I don’t understand most of it. Since Walter’s been teaching me all this stuff, I’ve been rereading the books I couldn’t decipher the first time around.”

“You have?” Lannie said, feeling lost.

“Yeah. I have. While you were ignoring the manor house falling down around our ears, I’ve been trying to save the lands, the village, and our peasants.”

“Charlton,” she began. So that’s where he had been disappearing to every day for months. He must have been working with the peasants, whoever _they_ were. She, she was ashamed to realize, should know who lived in the village attached to the manor house. Ulla would and probably already did.

“Shut up. Don’t talk to me anymore about what I do wrong. Don’t tell dad, he’ll rip into me about being a stupid failure like he always does. Don’t tell Walter or Ulla. They’ll get nasty too, because everything comes easy for them.” Charlton reached over and grabbed the heavy book from Lannie’s hands. “And Lannie? Quit worrying and marry the daimyo of Orlov. You’ve got a better chance of saving mama with his money than I do with running our corner of DelFino. Managing an estate into profitability is incredibly slow, your birthday is coming up fast, mama’s not doing better and we’re running out of time.”

“I’m not marrying Rastislav Orlov,” Lannie snarled.

“Think about someone besides yourself, sissy,” Charlton snarled back. “I have been. I think I’m the only person in this family who does.” He threw the door open and stomped out, book in hand, leaving Lannie behind in the library wondering if she understood her brother at all.

* * *

Her eighteenth birthday inexorably drew near. No one would listen. To Lannie’s dismay, Charlton didn’t bother looking into Rastislav Orlov. Or rather, he said he did and to quit worrying because there was nothing out of the ordinary other than those three wives of his, his age, and owning the fabulous Pearls of Orlov.

* * *

Dinner that evening was endless. It was punctuated by boring discussions about new aspects of household management from Ulla, complaints about ignorant, disrespectful, and disobedient children from Albion, mama coughing worse than ever, and Charlton’s sullen silence filling in the gaps.

Walter alone tried to talk about something other than rebuilding their particular corner of DelFino, choosing to focus on the weather for a change of pace from birdwatching, his other favored topic. He pontificated on the immense variety of cloud formations at length, prompting Charlton to, at last, say something.

He groaned in utter and absolute boredom.

Albion glared at his son. “You could speak up yourself, Charlton, rather than forcing other people to carry the conversation. Sparkling repartee makes for sparkling and memorable parties. It’s how you remain at the top of every hostess’s guest list like your mother and I do. Walter is developing the knack, unlike you.”

“Maybe you should have had Walter for a son,” Charlton muttered, eyes on his plate.

“You are jealous of your cousin’s accomplishments,” Albion announced to the table. “Which is no surprise, because unlike you, Walter has worked wonders improving our little corner of DelFino.”

Charlton smacked his glass down, pushed himself away from the table and stood up.

“You are correct, dad,” he announced in frigid tones. “I _am_ jealous of Walter. He has Zachary as a father while I got you, who let our little corner of DelFino go to rack and ruin while expecting everyone else to marvel at your wonderfulness while cleaning up your shit.”

He stomped out, leaving an awkward silence.

“I’ll go after him,” Ulla said when no one else moved and headed out after Charlton. She threw a look of contempt at Albion, Constance, and Lannie on her way to the door. A footman scrambled to get there first and open it for her, something he would not have done under the previous régime.

Lannie stared down at her plate, overwhelmed with the sensation of misunderstanding what was happening around her. That harpy, Ulla, being considerate of Charlton? Then Constance, oblivious to her surroundings, began coughing harder and had to be helped from the table, plied with glasses of ice water, a cup of her tisane, and led off to her solarium by Albion.

As Albion left the dining room, he turned back to Lannie.

“Yilanda,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Your mother’s health is not improving. She won’t get proper care until you marry the daimyo of Orlov so I suggest that you, as a dutiful daughter, quit stalling and start planning your trousseau. Ulla will advise you, since she, dutiful daughter of DelFino that she is, has already planned every last detail of her nuptials.”

Walter alone remained, picking at the evening’s dinner of roasted rabbit. He had never eaten rabbit before, other than in a hunting camp, and here it was served several times a week. He didn’t like rabbit with all those tiny bones but complaining to Cook had turned out to be a life-threatening experience, never to be repeated.

“Walter?” Lannie said into the silence.

“Yes, Lannie?” he answered.

“I can’t do it. I can’t marry Rastislav Orlov. I just can’t.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Walter said. “You’d be the daimyah without waiting thirty years for your husband to claw his way to the top. You should talk to Ulla. She’s very practical.”

“That’s one way of describing her,” Lannie said with a roll of her eyes. She then gleefully informed Walter about her earlier conversation with Ulla about lovers fathering children.

“Gleesh,” Walter said when she finished and he’d had several moments of shocked thought, shocked enough to absentmindedly finish eating his rabbit and make a start on the yams, another food he detested as being peasant fodder. “Ulla advised you to cheat on your husband?”

“She’s being practical,” Lannie said. “Rastislav needs an heir, he’s not getting one, and he’s getting more decrepit by the day.”

“Gleesh.”

“I can’t do it, Walter. I just can’t. You have to help me because Charlton won’t.”

Walter looked superior, lifting his chin to better display his handsome profile.

“I’m not surprised. Charlton doesn’t want to help anyone or anything. Why would he help you?”

“Exactly,” Lannie said, relieved at how quickly Walter understood what she was trying to say. “You have to help me escape marrying Rastislav.”

“You’re my favorite cousin, Lannie,” Walter said and smiled warmly at her. “Helping you out is the least I can do.”

“Thank you, Walter,” Lannie said. He really was a sweetheart and Charlton was completely wrong about him.

* * *

Riding the corridor with Pello, Helion, and their crew was, to say the least, highly educational for Fen. Dawud and Kavan were just as seasoned, just as competent, just as knowledgeable, as was their crew of vaqueros but they never forgot that he was a member of the ruling family of HighTower and they were its sworn vassals.

Pello, Helion, and their crew did not labor under such a burden. To them, Fen was an ignorant and untutored gauchito who had to be brought up to speed and fast.

“Again,” Pello said, after pouring water onto the coals. “Light the fire.”

It was irritating beyond measure to relight a fire on top of sodden embers in the dying light of evening, but Pello was right. If he couldn’t light a fire when it was damp and dark, he was crippled, perhaps fatally. If Kavan or Dawud had been as ruthless, he’d already have some practice.

The day, like the previous four days since meeting in the sleet storm, had been packed with similar learning experiences, all of which demonstrated how much Fen had to learn. One thing he could say for Pello and Helion; they and their crew, including the dogs, extra pack horses loaded with gear, the apprentice Pigeon-Master, and the cages of pigeons, didn’t slow him down. He slowed _them_ down.

He grinned at Pello, striving for a cheeriness he didn’t feel. “I was damn lucky I met you and your crew. I’ll make it to Barsoom in one piece.”

To his surprise, Pello answered. He usually measured out his words as if he was paying for each one.

“That’s my goal, Fenrick.”

Fen fiddled with fresh twigs and a bunch of dry grass he’d taken to keeping tucked in a pocket at all times. Carrying dry grass saved time and guaranteed that it stayed dry. The first rain storm had taught him that much. To his immense relief, the pyramid of twigs and fluff caught quickly. He was improving, although the live coal he had found buried in the ashes helped considerably.

“Hmm,” Pello said from his vantage point. He’d spotted the lump of brilliant orange too. “I’ll have to use more water next time. I didn’t soak the firepit enough.”

The fire lit, Fen sat back on his heels warily, waiting to see if Pello doused it again. He’d been lighting all the fires, repeatedly, and Pello rarely stopped with two or three trials.

“You’re doing better, Fenrick.”

“Thank you.” Fen thought rapidly. Pello might be in a mood to talk and he’d be able to learn why he and Helion — because the two of them had to agree — were being so helpful to anyone from HighTower.

“I really appreciate your time and efforts on behalf of HighTower,” he added and waited to see if Pello said something.

He didn’t.

Neither did Helion, who did exchange glances with Pello. Just like Dawud and Kavan, they could communicate without words or hands. Just like Dawud and Kavan, it was hugely irritating to outsiders.

Fen took the plunge. “I have to know. Why are you being so helpful when I am sure that Remus Kenyatta has got more than enough for you to do?”

“We got leeway, Fenrick,” Pello answered.

Fen leaned forward, meeting the older man’s dark eyes, unconsciously channeling how his father, the daimyo, behaved. “I know you do. Every Hand does. I want to know _why_ when nurse-maiding me does not further the aims of Kenyatta.”

Pello grinned suddenly. “And how do you know it doesn’t? You’re a member of HighTower’s own ruling family. You could be named the next daimyo. Helping you out will put HighTower into Kenyatta’s debt.”

Fen sniffed contemptuously, drawing startled looks from the vaqueros listening and commenting with their hands so as to not interfere with the larger, more important spoken conversation.

“I am the runt of the litter. Not daimyo material, as anyone in my family will be happy to tell you.”

Pello and Helion glanced at each other, exactly as Dawud and Kavan had done so often.

“Being the runt must be why you’re riding the corridor to Barsoom, taking months out of your life along with risking that life, seeing as how you are so unprepared,” Helion replied.

“Got to agree with my partner,” Pello added.

“No one else was available,” Fen snapped.

“Quit talking like a fool, Fenrick,” Pello said. “Someone else is always available. They just didn’t bother, because HighTower don’t matter as much to them as it does to you.”

Fen opened his mouth and then closed it. He stared into the heart of the fire, briskly burning and sending up showers of sparks when a piece of kindling broke and shattered into the surrounding flames.

“I’ll have to think on that,” he said, breaking the quiet of the night sounds of the steppes. A train was headed towards them on its way from Purnell, the sound of its passage diminished by the low hills separating their campsite from the railway and the road next to it.

“You do that,” Pello said. “I am right as you will come to understand.”

“You can’t be right all the time,” Fen said coldly. “No one is.”

“True, but here and now, I am. Time to turn in. I want to be moving west by dawn. Fenrick, get the fire going by first light so I can have my tea.”

“Yes, sir,” Fen replied and patted his pocket full of dry grass. Dawn grass was always sodden with dew.

* * *

Lady Bettina was finally located, in the stables finishing up with the groom with a broken arm. She set out at once for the main house and met Iolanthe in the grand entry hall near Orlov Castle’s huge double doors.

“The daimyo injured, you say?” she said as soon as she saw Iolanthe.

“Yes, auntie Bettina.” Iolanthe took a quick look around. “So the maid told me.” She gave auntie Bettina a significant look. “You know the one. Her uniform was askew and her hair mussed, probably from trying to assist the daimyo.”

“Ah,” auntie Bettina said, replying to Iolanthe’s speaking glance and careful words. They both knew the implication; that Rastislav might have been disporting himself with the maid and might be both naked and dead of a heart attack brought on by strenuous exercise. “I’m on my way.”

Iolanthe did not, although she desperately wanted to, say “take your time”. She did not _think_ Auntie Bettina was on Rastislav’s side, but you never knew. Allegiances could and did change and Auntie Bettina had a son needing a place in Orlov’s hierarchy and a daughter needing a dowry to escape Orlov.

* * *

Ulla found Charlton hiding in the library, sitting in a small pool of candlelight. The glass shade protecting the candle from errant breezes needed, no surprise, to be washed clean of soot so every bit of precious light could be utilized. The mirror it sat on, in theory doubling the light, needed to be dusted. DelFino Castle, she remembered with an inward sigh of longing, had clean, clear, beautiful electric lights throughout. Candles were in keeping with Albion’s poor management of his ramshackle corner of DelFino. He had probably sold the fixtures and gambled the money away. At any rate, she hadn’t found them and she’d looked. There most likely wasn’t any money to pay for electricity anyways. This branch of the family lived like peasants, except peasants took better care of what little they owned. The household was one step above rushlights.

He looked up when she opened the door and stepped into the library.

“Come to tell me how I was wrong and need to apologize?” Charlton asked.

“No. You were rude at dinner but you weren’t wrong about your worthless father. I’m sorry if I sound cruel because he is still your father.”

“You’re accurate, Ulla. He’s ruined our little corner of the demesne. Why are you pestering me?” Charlton asked, no longer concerned about his manners when dealing with a much more important member of DelFino.

She stood, silhouetted in the doorway, the very image of a DelFino princess with her aristocratic nose, emerald complexion, long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.

“I wanted you to know we’ve all got problems, Charlton, even me. Even Walter.”

“Right.” Charlton returned his attention to deciphering the book in his lap, dismissing his cousin. Reading was always easier when he could sound out the words but he was damned if he would demonstrate his incompetence in front of Ulla.

“It’s true. I know Walter can be a prig. He won’t admit that you’ve improved tremendously but I can see it. You have. You should be proud, Charlton. Your dad crippled you and yet, here you are. Trying to save this corner of DelFino and not giving up.”

Charlton sighed wearily. “Nice of you to notice, Ulla. It’s even nicer of you to say so. Does this mean the family will pay for mama’s care?”

Ulla sniffed. “I won’t lie. I doubt it.”

She gnawed on her lip and then, to Charlton’s surprise, began gnawing on the nail on her littlest finger on her left hand. It alone, and he had never noticed before, was unlike her other immaculate fingernails. It was ragged and the pink polish chipped. He wouldn’t have guessed Ulla, a princess of DelFino, had a single bad habit yet that fingernail was a dead giveaway. It was something else he had missed, another sign of his incompetence.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll manage somehow. We’ll get mama taken care of.”

Ulla yanked her hand away from her mouth and shoved her hand to her side, bunching up her dress fabric to keep her hand away from her mouth. “I have to say this. Don’t say anything to Walter or Lannie, not to Constance, not to your awful grandfather, and most especially not to your worthless father. I’m not sure your mother is truly sick. I know it seems she is, but there’s something not right about her illness.”

Charlton snapped his attention back to his cousin.

“ _What_? Are you claiming my mother is faking her illness?” he asked angrily. He leaped to his feet and strode closer; big and threatening. Walter was taller, but Charlton had broader shoulders.

She fanned her hands in agitation as he neared her.

“No. I’m positive _she_ is not. Forget I said anything. I just...” Ulla turned away; her face confused.

“I’m sorry. Keep working hard, Charlton. I report back to Zachary too so it isn’t just Walter telling him about your progress.”

He stood next to her, much too close. He was breathing hard, his hands clenched and his jaw tight. He needed to shave again; his dark stubble added to his menace.

“What about my mother?”

“Nothing, Charlton,” Ulla retorted. She stared up at his hard face. “My mistake.” She wrenched herself away and ran back out the library door.

Charlton glowered at the open door and the now empty hallway. “What in seven hells is wrong with you, Ulla?” he asked the hushed library. “You made no sense at all.”

* * *

“Walter, I don’t know how to thank you,” Lannie said. “Do you really think this will work?”

Walter smiled confidently at her across the table, still strewn with the remnants of dinner. The dining room was quiet, waiting for Ulla to return and chivy the maids into cleaning it up, a task they still didn’t snap to when Lannie ordered it. Ulla, on the other hand, garnered respect. It was another annoyance, Lannie thought, but in this case, it meant she could quietly confer with Walter and expect privacy.

“Absolutely, Lannie, it will. You’ll write to Rastislav, tell him how much you want to wed him the day you turn eighteen, demand that you wear the Pearls of Orlov for the wedding, and, since you’ll be leaving girlhood behind when he beds you, demand an hour of private prayer beforehand in the cathedral in Barsoom to prepare yourself. Remind him how beautiful your mother is and how much you want to bear strong sons for him. I’ll take care of everything else. Insist on marrying in Barsoom first and trust me, Lannie,” Walter said.

He reached across the table to stroke her hand.

“It will be alright. You’ll be alright. I swear it, Lannie, on the DelFino name.”

“Walter, you are so clever. So helpful. Charlton just refuses to understand why I can’t marry that man.”

Lannie gazed into his deep blue eyes. He was a cousin, but several degrees of consanguinity away, and it felt very nice — even exciting if she was being honest with herself — to have such a handsome young man paying attention to her, like her opinions mattered deeply.

“Charlton doesn’t really care about you, Lannie. I do.” Walter smiled even more encouragingly at Lannie.

He really was handsome and completely focused on her. Her heart skipped a beat, even if it was still Walter.

The door was flung open, making Walter jerk back into his seat and Lannie retreat to her own. She grabbed for her water glass, gulping it down to cover her embarrassment and confusion. Ulla stomped in, tearing mad, probably because she had opened her own door.

“Gleesh, Lannie,” she yelled. “Can’t you do anything right? The staff should already be clearing and you’re sitting there gabbing with Walter while the remains of dinner stick to the plates until they have to be _scraped_ off, damaging the porcelain! I know it’s just the scullery maids doing their jobs but can’t you even pretend to care about anyone besides yourself?”

* * *

Dinner looked to be an ordeal.

Rastislav had recovered enough to make an appearance, although it had taken days. He took his place at the head of the table in the spacious dining room, currently holding every single member of the family who was available.

He looked them over coldly, naming aloud each member of the family who had rushed to his bedside the first day to inform him about how devastated they were by his illness. Not everyone had as much of the family was busy running the vast Orlov demesne, and didn’t know of the crisis until long afterwards. Once he finished naming names, he glared all around the dining room.

“I will not forget,” the daimyo of Orlov said into the silence.

It made for an uncomfortable dinner, eaten over conversations restricted to the weather, birdwatching, and wishes for Rastislav’s continued good health.

When the servants began clearing, getting ready to serve another jarringly sweet dessert, Rastislav smacked a spoon into his wineglass, making it ring.

“You. Iolanthe.”

She looked up from her plate in her usual seat at the far end of the dining room and clutched her napkin in her crippled left hand, tucked safely under the table where it could not be seen.

“Yes, my lord Rastislav?” she forced the words out while smiling graciously.

“I was told I have you to thank for seeing that I was attended to by auntie Bettina.”

Iolanthe couldn’t stop her eyes from widening. Dear Gods. He must have figured out that she’d sent his doxy on a wild goose chase to the far east wing of Orlov Castle. He’d throw her out. She’d have to beg Cressida Kahn for sanctuary although how she’d limp from Orlov to Nourz to Kahn on her own was a damn good question. Papa and Dimitri wouldn’t be allowed to help and everyone else would be too frightened of repercussions against them and their children. She had to say something. He was waiting, glaring at her like a hungry tiger watching a lame gazelle at the watering hole.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied. “I know how important you are to the demesne.” Which was true. No one was more important than Rastislav. “We would never recover from your loss,” Iolanthe lied, hoping the words didn’t choke her.

Rastislav stood up and pointed to her.

She wanted to sink under the table and crawl underneath to escape. Orlov Castle had been built with dungeons; Gods alone knew why. If the sot was angry enough, she’d find out what they were like. Papa and Dimitri might end up sharing the cell next to her. She forced herself to sit upright, shoulders back and chin up, as a princess of Orlov should.

“You see this cripple?” he roared to the roomful of silent, anxious relatives. “She is the reason I am alive. None of you!”

He waited to see who would speak first.

“You are very gracious, my lord Rastislav,” Iolanthe said, rushing into the silence rather than watch someone else be singled out for punishment, starting with papa or Dimitri. “I was blessed solely because the maid found me first. Every member of the family would have done the same because you are so loved by us all.”

She smiled as winningly as she could at the daimyo of Orlov, praying that the vain fool would believe her bald-faced lie. Under the table, she squeezed the napkin until her fingernails bit into her palm.

Rastislav sat back down, his mood shifting back to proud and complacent happiness.

“Yes. I am. Soon I will marry again and father strong sons so my line will live forever! Wine all around!”


	9. This is killing work, Fenrick. Last chance to sit it out with the pigeons.

Dawn came and Fen was ready with a fire and boiling water for tea for Pello, Helion, and their crew. He was proud of himself. He had gotten the fire to light on his second try, despite the morning’s sogginess. All that practice was paying off. He’d need it soon enough when they parted ways.

They broke camp and headed westward, away from the rising sun, away from everything familiar. Unlike when Fen rode alone, Pello and Helion insisted on their crew riding down the government road, taking their half out of the middle. It was easier to intimidate bandits and study the foot traffic as well as demonstrating Kenyatta’s power, even as far away from the demesne as they were. All the other traffic on the road, both on foot and in wagons, obediently got out of the way. Travel was also faster, although the Hands insisted on making night camp in the steppes rather than anywhere near a filthy waystation or the smelly, noisy road. When they ran into one of Armstrong’s crews, those gentlemen joined, making the caravan even more impressive, until they split off to duties of their own.

Fen rode along on Coppertail, taking in the sights of the road and comparing it to what he was used to. He had never been this far east before. The group had passed the little-used corridor between Armstrong and Krangland days before. The free-city of Smeth was a wide spot in the government corridor according to Helion, not nearly as large as Purnell, but growing because of overflow from the Red Mercury lode. They went around it so Fen couldn’t confirm what Helion said. By the end of today, they’d reach the empty corridor separating Krangland and Daur.

A thought struck him.

“Why haven’t we crossed paths with anyone from Krangland?” Fen asked. “Are they sticking to the steppes? Don’t they cross over the empty corridor to work with Armstrong? Or do they not patrol their section at all?”

“Busy with the spring migration, I’d guess,” Pello answered after a pause. “I’ll ask the next Armstrong crew we run into on the trip home.”

They had met two separate Armstrong crews since the sleet storm. Both sets of Hands had quizzed Fen over his trip to Barsoom, looked over his gear critically, compared notes with Pello and Helion about his fitness to travel on his own to Barsoom, and informed him that the daimyo of Armstrong would get a full report about his progress. It had all been very lowering.

Even more disconcerting was that both sets of Armstrong Hands knew HighTower was having management troubles. The word about HighTower had spread far and wide, much more so than Fen would have believed. He wondered about that; it was becoming rapidly apparent the vassals of the Ennaretee were better informed and better connected than their ruling families understood. It had to be regular, newsy letters sent back and forth between distant relatives keeping family ties strong despite distance and time. Those letters didn’t just discuss new babies and marriages and exchange seeds; they discussed demesne politics. Why was HighTower’s own family not doing the same with their Four Hundred relations? Why was HighTower not better tied into its quad, its ninesquare, and its half of the Ennaretee? There was also the tiny free-city of Robinsin. HighTower held little sway there, despite it being the closest free-city, part of their quad, and one of the stops on the Nourz to Panschin railroad.

It was another example, as if he needed more, of how poorly HighTower was being managed. Armstrong, Kenyatta, and Satran were working closely together with each other and the agricultural demesnes to the south, benefiting all of them in multiple ways. HighTower needed to do the same with its own close neighbors.

“I’d be interested,” Fen replied. “Send a letter to me up in HighTower with what you learn.” He didn’t miss another of those speaking glances between Pello and Helion. He wanted to roll his eyes but restrained himself and added, “this corridor has gotten busier since the Red Mercury lode opened up. I can see the evidence myself in the right of ways alongside the road. I would think that Krangland would have far more bandits and highwaymen than usual what with the additional foot traffic heading to Purnell.”

“You would think,” Pello agreed. “But I’m not seeing nor have I heard of evidence to prove it.”

Fen twisted in the saddle to watch Pello’s face better. “You don’t get stories from travelers?”

“I have not. Others may have.”

“Find out for me, Pello,” Fen said. “We’re seeing more foot traffic in our corridor heading north to Panschin. No surprise to you, I’m sure, since Kenyatta shares a boundary with that corridor. I wouldn’t have expected the increase we’ve seen in the last two years. Those would-be squatters and miners should have turned left at Purnell and headed west to the Red Mercury lode. But they don’t. They keep going north.”

Pello didn’t answer at first, taking his time to think.

“I believe you may be right,” he said after a long pause. “I’ll have Kenyatta look into it. Maybe something has changed in Panschin and we’ll all be seeing a lot more traffic in the corridors.”

“You should,” Fen said. “Kenyatta would be affected along two borders. You must already be stretched thin with the added patrolling for Shelleen in the corridor to the south. If you have to add more patrols to your eastern border, you’ll be hard-pressed to keep up without more help from Satran.”

Pello gave Fen a long, searching study. “I’ll think on it. And I’ll write you with what I find out, after I inform Remus Kenyatta.”

“My thanks, Pello,” Fen said.

“Despite what others might tell you, Helion and I are the best Hands Remus Kenyatta has,” Pello replied. “He’ll be very interested in what you, Fenrick HighTower, are interested in.” He exchanged glances with Helion again. “He’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

The road had emptied out again, as they rode with their backs to the rising sun. In the distance, a train whistle cried as it chugged eastward to Purnell.

“I understood that Remus is getting up there in years,” Fen said dryly. “His successor may feel differently.”

Pello laughed. “Remus will take great care over who the family selects as the next daimyo. He’ll stay on as an advisor. Don’t expect huge changes.”

Interesting that he can forecast what the family will do, Fen thought. And not unexpected, seeing as how capable Pello is.

The whistle grew louder. The train roared by, speeding on its way to Purnell. It was a mixed train, both passenger and freight. The passengers leaned out of their windows to stare at the troop of Steppes Riders heading westward; barbaric and eye-catching in their thick wools, bright beads, and heavy beards and long braided hair.

As Fen expected, no one in Pello and Helion’s crew gawked back at the train. They ignored it as beneath their notice, despite, to an alert eye, their notably prouder posture. Only the dogs noticed, glancing at the train suspiciously, as they padded alongside the horses. It was hard to tell with the pigeons.

With the train gone, and its noisy progress receding into the distance the voice of the steppes reasserted itself. It was a song of wind, rippling grass, birds, the buzz and hum of insects, and the steady clop of horses trotting along.

Then the quiet was broken by a far-off scream, shrill and high, further to the west where the empty corridor beckoned. Nominally under the control of the Martian government, this corridor was empty of roads, railroads, waystations, tiny settlements (legal or otherwise), and anything else besides the steppes. If Daur and Krangland were like other Ennaretee demesnes, they used it as if it were their own land when needed, but otherwise ignored it.

That did not mean everyone ignored an empty corridor, particularly one located close to the heavy traffic of the Pole-To-Pole corridor and the often-busy east to west corridor that led to the Red Mercury lode and Purnell. Landless men and wolf’s-heads were known to use an empty corridor for a home base.

Fen knew the empty corridors in HighTower’s quad were patrolled regularly for squatters and bandit nests. He had participated himself often enough, as did every male member of his family. It was one of the few regular joint efforts in his quad, working hand-in-hand with Aguillero, VanDenRooz, and what was left of Winzlow. It was routine since it was the only way to maintain control of the land. He knew, particularly since the discovery of Shelleen’s Red Mercury lode, Kenyatta, Satran, and Armstrong cooperated the same way. The agricultural demesnes to the south of the corridor had the manpower, but they didn’t have the horses or the training. Pello and Helion had been most informative during the trek westward.

It had been a peaceful journey too, until now.

Pello stood up in the stirrups and whistled sharply for silence. The troop moved forward briskly, listening intently, and there it was again. Another scream borne towards them on the wind and then cut short, followed by a third.

“Bandits?” Fen asked.

“Probably,” Pello replied. “You want to sit this out with the pigeons since you got a job to do for your daimyo?”

“No. I built in plenty of time for emergencies and this seems like one.”

“Good lad.” Pello glanced at Helion, whistled sharply, and as one, the troop of Steppes Riders spurred their horses and galloped west to another, shriller scream and the slowly increasing sound of men fighting.

* * *

Lannie regarded the letter Walter drafted for her with deep misgivings. She read it again, parsing out the insinuations, but rereading didn’t lessen her awkwardness. It increased. This letter would lead the daimyo of Orlov to believe she wasn’t just accepting a marriage; she was panting in her eagerness to share his bed.

“Are you sure?” she asked Walter. “It’s, uh, awfully, uh, racy.”

“It will get his attention,” Walter answered smoothly.

“I’m sure.”

Lannie stared all around the morning room, down at her hands holding Walter’s indecent draft, and then back to the wall where one of her mother’s larger embroidered flower portraits was hanging. This one was of a cluster of oversized vibrantly pink peonies, the petals carelessly disarrayed around the flowers’ golden hearts. If flowers could look lascivious, enticing a willing pollinator or an army of willing pollinators into their most intimate parts, these flowers did. It wasn’t a comforting image, being a reminder of the service flowers actually performed for a plant.

Mind made up, she looked back at Walter. “I can’t send Rastislav Orlov this letter. I don’t know what some of it means but I’m sure it will give him the wrong impression of me.”

Walter gazed heavenward searching for patience, in the same pose that his father, Zachary, had used so often during his inspection.

“Lannie, cousin, think. You want Rastislav to have the wrong impression. You want those Pearls. They’ll help pay for your mother’s care, since, I’m sorry to admit, the family won’t. He has to believe you’re an eager bride to let you wear them for your wedding.”

“But Walter,”

“But nothing. You won’t be _marrying_ him. I’ll have everything in place. You won’t even see him after he gives you the Pearls to wear for the ceremony,” Walter said. He smiled winningly at Lannie. “You’ll never see him again. Trust me. I have your best interests at heart, along with those of your mother. I’m not Charlton. I won’t betray you or lie to you, ever.”

“I just don’t know, Walter,” Lannie mumbled. “It seems like an awful lot of things could go wrong and then I’ll be stuck married to that awful geezer and he’ll think I’m some kind of weird virgin slut.”

“Nothing will go wrong, Lannie. I promise.”

“But what will Orlov do to me? To DelFino?” Lannie asked, worrying at a fingernail. “I’ll have some of their Pearls. Orlov won’t like that. They’ll claim I stole them.”

“Lannie, Lannie, Lannie, you’ll be protected by the might and power of DelFino. And you won’t have stolen those Pearls. Rastislav will have _given_ them to you. You’re only keeping a few, just enough for your mother’s care.” He beamed winningly and reassuringly at her.

“He’s giving them to me to wear, Walter, not to keep,” Lannie muttered. “I just don’t like this idea. What if you’re wrong?”

She chewed more on her fingertip, tearing at the cuticle. Mama was coughing harder and harder, enough so that she could be heard all night long, keeping everyone else awake. Charlton wasn’t being helpful and their father, Albion, kept repeating “marry Rastislav or your mother will die”. She had written Zachery, begging him to reconsider paying for her mother’s care and his response had arrived with the morning’s mail. While flowery and polished, Zachery’s answer boiled down to one word: no.

Walter glanced around the morning room and lowered his voice. “I am not like your brother. I am competent and I don’t make mistakes.”

“That’s true enough,” Lannie said with a distracted giggle. Charlton and Walter had spent the early morning inspecting the village’s broken waterwheel, damaged in an overnight windstorm. Charlton had managed to slip and fall into the millpond and came out covered in mud and waterweeds clinging from head to toe. Walter had regaled the family at breakfast with the story, making everyone laugh as apparently the peasants had laughed too. Afterwards, Albion had congratulated Walter on his humorous and scintillating delivery of the anecdote and suggested ways of polishing the story for future dinner parties. When Charlton — clean, but with wet hair and still unshaven — finally showed up to devour what breakfast remained in the dining room, he’d been more sullen than usual, and then stomped off back outside.

She didn’t know where he had gone to and realized she didn’t care. Charlton, Lannie thought, wasn’t paying any attention at all to her awful fate. He didn’t care at all what the daimyo of Orlov would do to her. He didn’t care about her.

* * *

Rastislav read Yilanda DelFino’s letter a third time, feeling his blood rise as he did. This girl was panting in her eagerness to become his bride. She obviously recognized she was getting the finest husband on Mars and was grateful for the privilege. She claimed she was a virgin, but well-read, and impatient to learn the pleasures of married life with a handsome, experienced, worldly man like him. All she wanted in exchange was to be adorned with the Pearls of Orlov for the wedding, the Pearls which she would then wear for him afterwards on their wedding night, while wearing nothing else at all.

He would get sons on this bride. He was sure of it, especially if she was wearing the Pearls of Orlov. They would ensure her fertility. In fact, Rastislav thought as if struck by a bolt from heaven, he hadn’t required his previous wives wear the Pearls to bed. If he had, he would have fathered many strong sons already. The Pearls of Orlov were the talisman and symbol of the demesne and they held magic. He had never understood why Madame Orlov had made such a fuss over them, other than they were fabulously valuable.

Now he did. He had misunderstood certain, cryptic statements she had made about the Pearls. Everyone had. He gazed proudly across the Green Room at her portrait. He had figured it out; him and no one else, although she had helped by visiting his dreams while he lay ill. Madame Orlov had not been pleased with him or anyone in Orlov. She had ranted and raved while he slept uneasily, sweating with fever and writhing in agony. She had been adamant in those dreams as to what he must do for Orlov and now, thanks to this letter from Yilanda DelFino, he could correctly interpret what Madame Orlov meant.

He would father many sons in the future and his line would live forever, ruling Orlov for all time. The Pearls were the key, as Madame Orlov had always said. He would make her proud by continuing her direct line with a dozen great-grandsons.

Rastislav thought of Constance Ranaglia DelFino. If her daughter was half the beauty her mother had been, she would be delicious; completely naked except for the Pearls of Orlov draped across her firm, young body. His blood heated up still further as his groin tightened. Yes, he would sire many sons on her.

* * *

It didn’t take long to reach the ambush site, close to the empty corridor on the Krangland side. The road curved sharply around a steep, craggy hill, concealing what lay on either side to whomever was on the road. Due to the lay of the land, the railroad tracks had been laid on the other side of the hill meaning no one on a train would witness what happened on that particular stretch of road. The nearest waystation was ten klicks or more in either direction. It was a location designed for ambushing and waylaying travelers. The interesting question, for Fen, was why didn’t Krangland or Daur keep a watch on the hill? It spoke of criminal neglect.

Several wagons lay overturned before them, with terrified and screaming women and children huddled behind them. The draft horses had been cut free and most had run off in panic. The few surviving men of the group were fighting with bill-hooks and staves against mounted robbers armed with machetes. Blood spattered the ground, pooling under the bodies of those who had already been hacked apart.

Pello and Helion stopped long enough to work out who was killing whom, direct the apprentice Pigeon-Master to stay behind with the pack horses and the cages of pigeons, and unsheathe their own machetes.

“This is killing work, Fenrick HighTower,” Pello said. “Last chance to sit it out with the pigeons.”

Fen had been studying the bandits during the few moments it took to plan the counter-ambush. There weren’t that many highwaymen, only four from the looks of it, but they appeared to be skilled horsemen. Could they be Krangland renegades? Or Daur? It wasn’t unknown for a vassal to become a wolfs-head, although those few who did normally moved as far as possible from their home demesne since if captured, their lives were instantly forfeit.

“You need every man, Pello. The leader looks to be the one in dull blue tartan,” he answered.

Pello grinned, an eager bloodthirsty baring of teeth, as did Helion. “So he does.”

Helion held up a hand, shouted a command, and the dogs lunged for the fighters, snarling and barking. The remaining horse, still loosely tied to an overturned wagon, instantly panicked, as did the mounted robbers’ own horses. Pello screamed a challenge and the crew spurred their horses to a gallop and attacked, driving into the robbers from behind.

Fen slashed a robber with his machete, the razor-sharp blade glinting in the early morning sun. He cut through bone and sinew, leaving the robber’s arm on the ground and blood spurting across his body. He slashed across the robber’s throat, then spun Coppertail to the next robber to realize the fighting had stopped, although the screams from wailing children had not. He stopped, panting, to figure out what he needed to do next, while his blood pounded in his ears and his heart raced.

Pello, Helion, and their crew had slaughtered the other robbers without mercy, leaving their crumpled bodies strewn across the road. The ambushed travelers had seized their chance and regrouped behind the wagons, terrified by this new threat. Horses freed of their presumably dead riders reared and retreated into a cluster, herded by the snarling, snapping dogs. One of Pello’s vaqueros was already circling the ambush area, looking for signs of where the panicked travelers’ horses had disappeared to.

Fen spurred Coppertail closer to the group of travelers, reaching them before Pello and Helion, busy with controlling the horses and checking the bodies for signs of life, could. They didn’t need his help there, but this he could do.

“I am Fenrick HighTower,” he called out in the parade-ground voice he had been taught to use to be heard across a crowded, noisy plaza. It didn’t work as well as it did on the plaza in front of HighTower’s manor house, but the rocky hill helped magnify the sound.

“Who are you and where are you headed?”

“Travelers! We don’t want any more troubles,” the answer came back.

“I want names and a destination!” he called back.

An arrow whistled by, landing in the dirt nearby, making Coppertail rear back. Two more landed, one by Pello and one at Helion. Warning shots of some kind, Fen instantly realized. He concentrated on regaining control of his horse, while trying, at the same time, to see where the arrows were coming from. He wanted to cringe at his stupidity; a stupidity he couldn’t blame on adrenaline. It was from someone on top of the craggy hill, of course; an outstanding, obvious, and safely concealed vantage point. It was far too late to go hide with the pigeons.

He screamed out, “Hold your fire! We’re rescuing these travelers! I’m HighTower with the Hands of Kenyatta!”

* * *

Iolanthe looked at the plump maid carefully. The girl had knocked on the door to her tiny office while she, as she did every day at this time, went over Orlov Castle’s daily accounts. Today, unlike the last time when she had alerted Iolanthe to the daimyo’s illness, the maid was neatly dressed in her crisp black uniform, her cap pinned firmly over tightly braided hair. Her neck was oddly bruised, the marks just visible over her collar and creeping up towards her jawline.

“You need something?” Iolanthe asked as the maid stood fidgeting in the doorway, dumbstruck, with no apparent purpose in mind.

“Yes, my lady,” the girl answered, speaking again to the potted palm tree next to Iolanthe’s desk.

“Get on with it then,” Iolanthe ordered. “I have much work to do, as I am sure you do also.”

“Yes, my lady,” the maid answered again, her husky voice lower. She fidgeted nervously with her starched white apron, digging her hands into its capacious pockets.

“It’s my lord Rastislav, my lady,” the maid said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oh dear. This interview was bound to be trouble, Iolanthe thought. If she sent the girl away, she’d complain at once to her paramour and Iolanthe might suffer for it. If she spoke to the girl, and the girl wasn’t happy with what she said, the sot would get an earful from his doxy, and she’d suffer for it again.

“Come inside and close the door. What is your name, girl?”

“It’s Nelly, my lady,” the maid answered, speaking this time to the rug. She closed the door behind her and stepped cautiously towards the desk, as though afraid that Iolanthe would leap out from behind it and strike her down with her cane.

“I heard you was to leave Orlov, Miss Iolanthe. To marry into DelFino. I would like to go with you, as your maid, if I may.” This time, the maid addressed the front of the desk, closer, but still not actually speaking to a member of the Orlov ruling family, even a member as low-ranked as Iolanthe was.

Iolanthe carefully placed both hands on the desk, laying them flat while her mind raced. She watched as the maid, no, Nelly’s eyes darted towards her twisted and scarred left hand, on display as it seldom was.

“I see. I have a lady’s maid already, one who knows my needs. You are a proficient housemaid but not trained as a lady’s maid.”

“No, miss.” Nelly ducked her head, fidgeting more with her apron pockets.

Was Rastislav trying to assign a spy to watch her once she’d left Orlov? Iolanthe wanted to shake her head at her paranoia. He wouldn’t care and if he did, he wouldn’t have his current bedwarmer march into her office to tell her so. The sot would tell her himself in front of the entire family over dinner so he could enjoy her humiliation at having to be waited upon by his doxy.

None of this made sense. Nelly hadn’t fled yet, which was interesting. It was clear she was deeply uncomfortable, yet here she was, almost as if she was being forced.

“Nelly. You must explain why you wish to go with me,” Iolanthe said calmly. “I would not want to go against the daimyo’s wishes and you are, shall we say, a personal favorite of his.” She spread her fingers across the desktop, watching as Nelly’s eyes darted again towards the ugly scars running up the side of her left hand and its fingers, forcing them into a twisted claw.

“Yes, my lady Iolanthe.” Nelly paused, reeking of anxiety, while Iolanthe waited patiently. “I’m his favorite. But I won’t be no more when he marries again. I’ll have naught but troubles then from the other servants, you know I will. I got to leave Orlov.” The words came out in a rush.

“Nelly,” Iolanthe said firmly. “My lord Rastislav may not approve of you leaving him. He is fond of you.”

“No, miss, I mean, yes, miss, he is fond of me.” Nelly wrung her hands in her apron. “But I got to speak plain. It don’t mean nothing. I’m his favorite now, but that won’t last.”

This girl _was_ clever, Iolanthe thought. Clever enough to see she had no future with the sot and clever enough to look for an alternative to daily humiliations in Orlov Castle after the daimyo elevated another maid into his bed when he tired of this one.

“We cannot know the future, Nelly,” Iolanthe said.

“No, my lady, but I can see which way the wind blows,” Nelly replied to the palm tree.

Iolanthe regarded the maid warily. She was deeply distraught if she was willing to be so open with any member of the family. Her own lady’s maid, who had been with her for years, was rarely this plain-spoken.

“I will speak to Rastislav,” Iolanthe said.

“No, my lady, please don’t!” Nelly replied in alarm. “He won’t take it kindly.” The maid was upset enough to look up at Iolanthe and meet her eyes and then dropped them back to the desktop.

“The daimyo,” Iolanthe began.

“The daimyo’s not good for Orlov,” Nelly sputtered and flushed. “I said it, forgive me, but it’s true. We all know it. Please, my lady, don’t have me beaten for being disrespectful as he would.”

Iolanthe could feel her eyes widening. Gracious but this girl was being blunt.

“Those are harsh words,” she said carefully. “You are upset and surely don’t mean to speak so ill about our dear daimyo.”

Nelly raised her head back up to stare at Iolanthe’s face. She took a deep breath and said, addressing her directly as no Orlov servant ever did, “I do. He’s a mean drunk. Your hand and limp prove it. I know what I am and I know my place. I thought I could manage him, but I can’t. Him and his line, they’re the ruin of Orlov and it needs to end. He’ll marry that DelFino girl and get sons with her. He told me his dreams and what Madame Orlov said to him. He’ll make his new wife wear the Pearls when he beds her and she’ll catch son after son after son. He told me.”

Iolanthe realized she was gawking slack-jawed at the maid and fought to school her expression back to blandness. “Madame Orlov spoke to him in his dreams about the Pearls?”

“Yes, my lady.” Nelly wriggled her hands in her pockets again. “You got to read this. It’s from the DelFino girl.” She fished around in her pocket, retrieved a letter, and held it out to Iolanthe.

Iolanthe stared at the folded piece of cream stationary as if it were one of the poisonous snakes infesting the deepest jungles of Orlov. A letter from DelFino. She knew Rastislav had received it; he had announced a few days previously that the DelFino girl had been suitably grateful and enthusiastic about wedding him. If any servant in the castle hadn’t known of his upcoming nuptials, they did afterwards. Servants gossiped constantly and by now, every serf in Orlov must also know, informed by relatives serving in the castle. Morley had been clear. The serfs were unhappy with their lot and unhappy with how Rastislav ruled the demesne. It followed that the servants, relatives to the serfs, probably felt the same. They would know how their relatives in the fields were struggling, ending every day hungry, and losing hope in a better future for them and their children. If Rastislav died without issue, someone else would rule Orlov, someone who might be competent.

“How did you get this?”

“He’s enjoying himself with another of the maids right now. I won’t be his favorite no more and I’m glad. He can’t hurt me no more. I took that letter from his bedchamber and read it and I knew I had to show you, my lady. It’s wicked, what this girl says she’ll do and her claiming to be a virgin too.”

“I see.” Iolanthe considered how long Rastislav might spend taking his pleasure with a housemaid. Not long probably, since he wouldn’t waste his valuable time sexually gratifying a servant. She’d have to get the letter returned quickly so Nelly didn’t suffer and neither did she. She took the letter, unfolded it, and read it swiftly, her eyes getting wider and wider.

Then she read it again, trying to commit it to memory. Dear Gods, but this DelFino girl was panting in her eagerness. The things she wrote were sluttish in the extreme. She had to be lying about her virginity. Worse, she was demanding the sot bring the Pearls to Barsoom to her, so she could marry while wearing them and then continue to wear them while being deflowered (hah!) right after the ceremony in Orlov’s Barsoom townhouse. What if Pearls were lost or stolen? What if the sot damaged them in a drunken, lecherous rage?

Iolanthe looked up at the maid, twisting her hands in her apron. “You did right by bringing this to me, Nelly. I will do the best I can by you but I cannot promise anything. The daimyo has the final say. In the meantime, you must swiftly replace this letter exactly as you found it. Do not let him see you or he will punish you severely for your theft. Now run, Nelly. Do not delay. If you are stopped, you are running an errand for me.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Nelly said and took back the letter with shaking hands. She stuffed it back into her apron pocket and fled the room.

Iolanthe sat back in her chair; her mind awhirl. The daimyo’s ramblings at dinner were becoming clear. He had been claiming the Pearls were indeed the talisman that Madame Orlov had insisted they were and they guaranteed fertility. She, along with papa and Dimitri, uncle Ljubo and Auntie Quintana, had thought his mind was decaying from the wine. Perhaps it was not. Auntie Bettina had confided that he had been near death. He had dreamed fever dreams of Madame Orlov, and now this letter filled him with lust and dreams of sons.

One thing was clear. It was more imperative than ever that Rastislav not marry and father sons to continue his line. If the DelFino girl was this eager, she might — unlike Rastislav’s previous wives — welcome his lechery. She wanted to bear him as many children as her body would allow. She might be fertile with him as the previous wives were not. The Pearls wouldn’t have anything to do with it. That was mere superstition on the sot’s part. Iolanthe stared at the closed door as another thought loomed. A girl this eager to bear sons might not confine her attentions to her husband to ensure she conceived them. According to Cressida, Naomi Khan wouldn’t, which was why she was never left unchaperoned these days while the Khan family sought a husband for her who hadn’t heard the salacious rumors about her behavior.

This marriage wasn’t worth the risk.

If only Rastislav had died. If only he would have a convenient fatal accident. If only the DelFino girl had refused him as was her right.

If only.

Marrying Charlton DelFino offered her a chance to escape Orlov, but only if his sister married the sot. Could she abandon her father and brother, along with the rest of the family, knowing that the sot’s line might continue until Orlov was destroyed? Iolanthe began to shake with nausea. She couldn’t and that meant she would be trapped forever in Orlov.

The maid, Nelly, had made her decision more complex. Her stomach roiled. The maid had been distraught, even to claiming Rastislav had hurt her. Iolanthe dismissed at once the possibility that Nelly might be lying. Everyone living in Orlov Castle knew he had abused his previous wives, and if he beat a merchant’s daughter, a mere housemaid didn’t stand a chance in hell of being treated respectfully.

A new realization struck her. Her stomach heaved and she swallowed bile, reaching hastily for water to force the acid back down. The bruises on Nelly’s neck were fingermarks, where the sot had tried to choke her. No wonder she wanted to flee the castle. The maid would never be safe in Orlov, even if she were to run to the furthest village. Rastislav could not let her live and possibly let his new wife discover his true, wretched nature. Nelly would gossip, the serfs would gossip, and eventually, the servants in the castle would gossip more than they already did. The new wife would discover within days what she had married.

Iolanthe’s nausea increased. If the sot married the DelFino girl, he would get sons, one way or another, and finish the destruction of Orlov. Papa, Dimitri, her other relatives were all trapped whereas she would be able to escape. But if the sot didn’t marry the DelFino girl, she would be trapped as well. She sat frozen in her chair, seeing nothing ahead but ill visions of the future.

Damn him. Why couldn’t he fall down the stairs while drunk and break his damn neck? Why couldn’t someone push him down the stairs?

Should she push him down the stairs?

Iolanthe considered the possibility carefully. She had the advantage of being crippled. No one would suspect her of being _deliberately_ clumsy, stumbling into Rastislav on the landing as he had drunkenly stumbled into her mother all those years ago. The difficulty lay in getting close enough to him to manage it without being obvious. And of course, having the strength to shove him down over the top step, praying that he would bounce all the way to the bottom, breaking every bone in his worthless body, shattering the huge vases at the foot of the stairs so the porcelain could shred what was left into bloody ribbons.

The sot was far stronger than she was. She’d have to trip him with her cane and then hit him repeatedly, trying to force him down the stairs, slamming his head on every step until he snapped his neck.

Delightful as the daydream was, she would fail. It would be too risky for anyone else to attempt, because no one else had the genuine excuse she did. If the sot survived, and he would, the unlucky shover would be punished severely, along with spouse and children.

Iolanthe couldn’t think of a thing she could do and then her eye fell on a letter, arrived this morning from Cressida Kahn. She had many penpals, quite a few of whom she had never met in person. She didn’t write to anyone in DelFino, but someone somewhere in her network of acquaintances possibly wrote regularly to a shy wallflower in DelFino. Every demesne had a few. She would have to be subtle in her inquiries, and it would take time, but she could find out more about Yilanda DelFino’s proclivities and about Charlton as well.

She fished out a fresh piece of stationary, wishing she’d started the process back when papa had first told her about Yilanda and Charlton DelFino, and drafted the first of a series of letters.


	10. If you think it’s so wonderful, why don’t you marry Rastislav and wear those darn pearls?

Fen held his ground while soothing Coppertail, wishing he could dive for cover under a nearby, tipped-over wagon or flutter away home like a pigeon. The arrow shot into the dirt near his feet was still quivering. His mind raced. Whoever was up on top of the crag could have killed him, or Pello, Helion, and their crew easily from such a vantage point. But they hadn’t. Whoever was atop the crag hadn’t been shooting the travelers, since none of them were shot full of arrows. More worryingly, the man with the bow hadn’t shot the bandits.

Had the shooter atop the crag even heard him over the clamor of screaming kids, panicked horses, barking dogs, and shouting men?

He swiftly chose the mostly likely point for a shooter to conceal himself, stood in the saddle, and waved his arms for attention, then, using exaggerated movements so they could be read at a distance began speaking with his hands.

_Hold your fire. I’m HighTower. I’m traveling with the Hands of Kenyatta. We’ve killed these bandits and intend no harm to the travelers. I swear this on my name. Come down so we can talk._

To his immense relief, he didn’t feel another arrow plunge through his chest, puncturing a lung. Whoever was hiding on the crag had listened. That meant he had to be a Steppes Rider since no one outside the Ennaretee used handtalk.

“Pello, Helion,” Fen shouted, exaggerating his diction so his words would carry better through the air. “Any ideas who’d be up there? Krangland maybe or Daur?”

“Don’t know,” Pello shouted back, making sure his voice was equally clear. “We’re closer to Krangland so it should be them.”

Fen waved his hands again for attention, even as he felt his stomach trying to crawl behind his spine for protection and Coppertail danced in his agitation. He was silhouetted against the ground and an easy target, with nothing to duck behind. And what if Coppertail was injured?

“ _Come down so we can talk_.” He repeated, making sure his gestures were wide and easily understandable from a distance and waited, ignoring the action behind him. It sounded like Pello was calling the dogs back to him, while the vaqueros were regaining control of the bandits’ panicked horses, calming them down.

Minutes passed as the uproar behind him quieted. He could feel the sweat bead on his neck and skitter down his back, making his shoulder blades itch. Then another arrow whistled to the ground near his feet, but this one had been fletched with white feathers and a note was tied to it.

“ _I’m picking up the arrow and sharing it with the Hands of Kenyatta_ ,” he replied with handtalk.

He dismounted, reached and plucked the arrow from the ground, noticing automatically how the feathers had been tied to the shaft differently from how it would have been done in HighTower and that the arrowhead was chipped from a stone he didn’t recognize. The note, written in shaky letters on stained paper, was short.

_Bad water. Poisoned crew. All sick. Couldn’t fight bandits._

_Don’t drink from well behind crag._

_Janson, Hand of Krangland_

“Damnation,” Pello said when Fen finished reading the letter aloud in his best parade-ground voice.

“You see to the travelers.” Fen said. “I’ll climb the crag and see what’s going on.”

“By yourself?”

“You’ve got your hands full. No reason to risk more than one person. If I don’t come back, contact my dad at once. He’ll know what to do.” He hoped.

“I —,” Pello began.

“No. Do as I say. Get the horses rounded up, the travelers calmed down, and strip the bodies of those bandits. If any are still alive, keep them that way for now. Maybe you can figure out who they are.”

Fen turned his back on Pello, waved his hands again for attention and gestured, “ _I’m climbing up the crag._ ”

He strode over to the foot of the crag and stared up. There was a winding rocky path twisting through the grasses, suitable for a goat or an agile man, but not much else. He closed his eyes for a moment as he begged his ancestors for aid, took a deep breath, and began climbing up to the top of the crag, wondering what he would find.

* * *

It was a quicker trip than he expected since the path was thoughtfully laid out and well-used, although that fact wasn’t apparent at the crag’s base. As he had hoped, there was only one man at the top he had to deal with. Janson, Hand of Krangland, lay in a crumpled heap, barely conscious and vomiting in gasping dry heaves. From the looks of him and the trail he had left, Janson had dragged himself up to the crag’s top from the other side. He had used the last of his strength with his arrows.

Fen knelt down, poured water on a clean handkerchief, and wiped Janson’s face clean. The Krangland Hand reeked, leading him to wonder how well water could have gone this bad. He stilled with the realization. It had been deliberately poisoned, probably by the bandits now lying dead far below. They had recognized how perfect the crag was for observing the government road and turned it into a trap for Krangland and Daur’s vassals. The crag must have a permanent campsite at its foot on the other side, with its own dedicated well so the Steppes Riders using it would have a concealed, reliable source of water. This ideal location was also a glaringly obvious site for an ambush if an enemy got there first.

He looked down the messy trail Janson had left. The Krangland Hand must have heard the screaming and dragged himself up to see what had happened on his watch. His bow lay where he dropped it. This was why he hadn’t shot the bandits. He had crawled to the overlook, arriving after Pello and Helion had begun slaughtering bandits and so didn’t know who was who. Fen picked the bow up, took an arrow from Janson’s quiver where it lay, wrote a short note explaining what he had found and his interpretation, and peered over the edge. Pello, far below, was directing operations. He had everything well in hand; he obviously didn’t need any assistance from Fenrick HighTower. Other people did.

Fen added a postscript saying he was going to the campsite on the other side and asking for a vaquero with plenty of clean water to find him there. He shot the arrow, note attached to it, aiming to land close to Pello. Then he gently lifted Janson up, tall and heavy, slung him over his shoulder, and began carefully picking his way down the path to the camp below. There was a clump of large fir trees clinging to the side of the hill, unusual in these parts and suspiciously even in size and spacing, indicating the campsite’s exact location and that it was of long-standing. The rise and fall of the hill’s slope helped conceal the camp from the railroad tracks further to the north on the flatter ground. The location looked ideal for a permanent campsite, which meant anyone who knew what they were doing on the steppes would have spotted it. The other, more worrying location indicator was the increasingly large flock of carrion birds gathering in the thermals high overhead and getting ready to settle down for a sumptuous feast lasting for days.

By the time he reached the campsite, an easier path by far than the path he climbed up the other side, he was drenched in his own sweat, well-laced with Janson’s own vomit, sweat, piss, and shit. How was this man even alive? Fen pondered the situation as he struggled down the well-trodden path. Janson outweighed him by a few stone and he didn’t want to jostle him more than needed. The foul odor wafting up to him was becoming so strong he could have found the campsite using only his nose. If the rest of Janson’s crew was as badly off, and it smelled like they were, they would need medical attention quickly. The pigeon cages Pello was dragging around would come in handy. Armstrong was closest and since they were part of Krangland’s quad, they would have pigeons for their sister demesne. Messages could be relayed to Daur from Krangland. It would take days of hard riding to get someone from either demesne to the crag, but it would happen and perhaps soon enough to keep everyone alive. Assuming they still were. He couldn’t leave on his own errand to Barsoom until after he knew help had arrived.

Fen wanted to groan over the delays but couldn’t spare the breath, with Janson weighing down on him. Good thing he’d built in extra time. He was about to lose several more days. With each stop to readjust his hold on Janson, Fen listened intently while breathing through his mouth. He didn’t hear dogs alerting the campsite to his approach. Some horses were alive, anxious and fretful by their sound. Of men, he heard only low groans. From the cawing, there were many crows already at work picking at the dead.

* * *

Three of Krangland’s men were dead, along with all the dogs and two horses. The survivors were sicker than Janson, which was why he had been the one to drag himself to the crag’s overlook. Fen busied himself with getting water into each of the survivors and shooing away carrion birds and swarming flies. He counted the minutes until Pello’s vaqueros came riding hard into the camp, leading a packhorse loaded with all the waterskins.

The apprentice Pigeon-Master arrived next with his packhorse carrying an assortment of caged pigeons. As the dying men and horses were attended to, that lad busied himself with writing messages and tying them to the legs of chosen pigeons. He kissed each bird and tossed it into the sky while chanting prayers begging for hawk avoidance and safe guidance home. The surrounding demesnes would learn of the disaster within the hour. It would take them far longer to arrive because of the distance.

* * *

As he foresaw, Fen lost a full ten days of travel time during the rescue and recovery efforts, but he gained the goodwill of Krangland and Daur, Kenyatta and Armstrong, and earned the beads to prove it. He had arrived in time to save some of Krangland’s vassals, but not all of them. He let Krangland and Daur, Kenyatta and Armstrong sort out what to do with the travelers.

The bandit troop was what was interesting. During the investigation, it was discovered that the leader of the bandits was indeed a wolf’s-head and Steppes Rider from the far western reaches of the Ennaretee. His hidden base — well south of the government road in the empty corridor — was tracked down, destroyed, and the enslaved women rescued. The few guards left behind showed no loyalty to their former leader, confessing everything in a vain effort to buy off their own executions. As for his share of the recovered booty, Fen had everything but the coin sent home to HighTower. The welcome handful of coin went with him to Barsoom for the bills he would have to pay.

The fight with the bandits and its aftermath gave him plenty to think about during the long ride south to Barsoom.

Why hadn’t Pello and Helion known about a wolf’s-head robbing travelers in their corridor? It was true the wolf’s-head had located his base where Steppes Riders wouldn’t go but still, his actions should have been observed by _someone_. Word should have been passed from Krangland and Daur to their neighbors to the east. Fen knew the name of every vassal who had been declared wolf’s head in the eastern half of the Ennaretee going back for two generations, even outside of HighTower’s ninesquare. None of those men remained alive; all had been hunted down, captured, and staked.

Why weren’t Krangland and Daur working more closely within their ninesquare? Armstrong was part of Daur’s ninesquare as well as Krangland’s quad, yet the corridors between them functioned as a mental barrier as well as a physical one.

The demesnes of the Ennaretee were widely regarded as poor, tent-dwelling barbarians by the richer, more sophisticated demesnes to the south. However, they were still fully-fledged members of the Four Hundred with all the rights and voting privileges thereof. If they worked together in the conclave, they could achieve much, starting with more and better attention paid to their region’s own needs. Yet even within HighTower’s own quad, they, Winzlow, Aguillero, and VanDenRooz didn’t present a united front when arguing with the railroad, the free-city of Robinsin, and the Martian government.

He had to change this way of thinking. The Ennaretee would never be respected as long as its demesnes refused to cooperate. They had no power. Shelleen was reaching outside of the Ennagzee to the ranching demesnes to its north and was already reaping the benefits. HighTower should do the same.

As one day blended into the next, Fen rode down the Pole-to-Pole corridor, taking his half out of the middle as Pello and Helion recommended. It was faster and the few times danger reared up, he was able to avoid it or fight his way free. Each free-city he rode through was larger and more crowded than the one before, the buildings larger and closer together, the residents increasingly curious about his appearance while pretending to be blasé. He always slept well away from the road and any settlement, concealed from view. Riding down the middle of the road allowed him to see how the Ennagzee lords patrolled their portions of the Pole-to-Pole corridor. They were spotty at best and the Martian government wasn’t any better. It was a shocking lapse compared to how the demesnes in his ninesquare cooperated for the common good.

And all the way south to Barsoom, Fen chewed over how he had been treated by the Hands and daimyos of Kenyatta, Armstrong, Krangland, and Daur. They did not automatically disregard him as the runt of the litter. Not at all. That was interesting too and worth careful thought as to why.

* * *

“I am so happy to see you accepting your fate, Lannie,” Ulla said. “You’ll be the daimyah of Orlov, one of the highest ranked ladies in the Four Hundred, part of the Hot Zone and not some backwater, fourth-rate horse demesne where even the ruling family live in tents.”

“Right,” Lannie muttered, staring down at her plate. She and Ulla had enjoyed, if that was the correct word, another endless day of instruction about managing a huge staff. The emphasis today had been on keeping everyone properly clothed and shod. Luckily, she wasn’t completely ignorant on the subject of clothing.

“You don’t seem very appreciative,” Ulla shot back. She glared down at her own plate, then turned her annoyed face back towards Lannie. It had been a contentious day, revealing still more poor management on Constance’s part and how the housekeeper, who was supposed to supervise the female servants, was still spending most of her time drunk. The only good thing that came out of the day’s investigation was finally discovering the source of grandfather’s alcohol. Ulla had helpfully and accurately pointed out to Lannie that if she had spared a single moment’s thought towards the question, the answer would have been obvious.

Ulla waited a few beats for Lannie to respond, then said, “Your problem is you don’t think, Lannie. A woman can’t aspire to a higher position in the Four Hundred than daimyah and here it’s being handed to you on a pearl-encrusted plate.”

“If you think it’s so wonderful, why don’t you marry Rastislav and wear those darn pearls?” Lannie snarled. She set her table knife down with care so she didn’t throw it across the table into Ulla’s black, competent heart.

All eyes went to Ulla, who was using her own table knife to rip apart the rabbit haunch she had been served. She was using far more force than necessary, tearing the meat into shreds.

Ulla set her own knife down, the blade tip aimed at Lannie. “I thought about it, Lannie. I’ll be honest. I did. You of all people becoming the daimyah, managing an entire castle when you couldn’t manage a peasant’s cottage.”

“I’m better now,” Lannie replied, stabbing her fork into her own piece of rabbit and twisting it into the flesh. Mama had never taught her anything about how to supervise the manor house and neither had the head housekeeper, probably because she liked idleness better than work. Ulla, on the other hand, had been intensely thorough down to the last petty detail.

“You’re better because of me, Lannie. And it’s because of me that you’re marrying the daimyo of Orlov and I’m not. Because I’m doing the right thing, like I _always_ do the right thing,” Ulla growled.

“How are you doing the right thing?” Charlton asked, his first spoken words since dinner began. He spoke less every day at dinner, apparently saving his words for some other project. His silence made their father rag him still more about learning the art of sparkling conversation, while making unfavorable comparisons about how Walter was developing nicely into every hostess’s dream dinner guest.

“Yeah, I’d like to know too,” Lannie muttered to her plate. She hadn’t spoken to Charlton other than when necessary for days, but here he was, asking the question she wanted the answer to.

Ulla smiled her most superior smile, the one that made Lannie want to lunge across the table, using her dinner fork as a dagger. It had longer, heavier tines than her salad fork or dessert fork and thus had a better chance of doing significant damage. Also, Ulla might be less likely to recognize it instantly as a weapon, something that would be painfully obvious if she used her table knife.

“It’s simple. Marrying Rastislav is the only way you’ll ever become the daimyah of anywhere, Lannie. You don’t have what it takes to attract a man of the Four Hundred with real prospects.”

“And you do?” Lannie asked heatedly, knowing as she spoke that of course Ulla did. Ulla was not just another pretty DelFino princess, but the most aggressively competent person Lannie had ever met. She had a dowry of her own. She had better connections. Her branch of the family, while mundane, was also competent and blessedly scandal-free. A thought niggled at her on that subject and she pushed it away to concentrate on her cousin’s guaranteed to be annoying response.

“In theory.” Ulla shrugged. “It isn’t just that I’ve got real skills and talents. Or that I’m intelligent and, unlike you, hardworking. Sorry, you’re better now but no one knows that yet. I could run Mars and not just a castle. It’s not even that I’ve got a bigger pool of potential husbands to choose from than you will. It’s that,” — Ulla picked up the rabbit leg and tore off a mouthful of meat with her strong white teeth — “any man I marry will become the daimyo of whatever demesne he’s from.”

Charlton put his own silverware down and leaned forward, both elbows on the table.

“What? That’s not possible.” Three sentences. A red-letter day.

“Yes, it is. I will _make_ whoever I marry into daimyo material. He _will_ succeed. I will _insist_ he does.” Ulla looked over everyone sitting around the dining room table, plucked a stalk of celery from the celery vase, examined it, and snapped off a bite cleanly, crunching loudly in the silence.

Lannie took a quick glance around the dining room, amazed. Mama was smiling gently, her mind somewhere else, but she wasn’t disagreeing with Ulla. Her vagueness had been increasing, which was worrisome. Walter, Charlton, and even daddy were all wearing identical appalled expressions, like a cockerel being forced to choose between becoming a capon or a fricassee. Even the two footmen were wearing the same appalled expression, one that shifted to the usual blank look edged with contempt as soon as they noticed her noticing.

She glanced back over at her brother, elated by the chance to get a dig in, and pretend she hadn’t seen the footmen’s expressions.

“Even Charlton?” she taunted.

“Charlton would be easy,” Ulla said and bit down hard on her celery stalk, tearing off another chunk. “I could suffer brain seizures and still manage.”

Walter snickered as did Albion.

“Now I know you’re crazy,” Charlton said wearily. “Besides the fact that we’re third cousins, every male relative in DelFino out to fifteen degrees of consanguinity would have to die first and even then, they’d find somebody else.”

“Sadly, that is true,” Albion added. He sighed deeply and thoroughly to better express his agony. “Charlton has never measured up despite everything I’ve sacrificed for him. But it is kind of you to say so, Ulla.” He beamed at her, making sure to present his best side for her approval.

“Now, Albion, Charlton does the best he can,” Constance said and drifted back to studying her wineglass filled with her special tisane instead of wine. She coughed delicately, the first time she had coughed in a few hours, sipped from it, and then coughed again.

Ulla sat back and stared at Albion, freezing him in place until he looked away in open discomfort. She kept the tines of her fork aimed at the artery in his throat as she spoke. “I am not being kind. Nor do I, unlike some people, lie or cheat to improve my own position at the cost of other people whom I claim to love.”

Constance began coughing harder. As Albion eagerly sprang to her aid, Ulla watched him closely and coldly, while idly playing with her dinner fork. She tapped it against her wineglass with the steadiness of a metronome, an unnerving series of pings.

Constance was shepherded from the dining room by her husband, who was being his most solicitous. From his position at the door, Albion said, “Lannie. You will be eighteen within days. Your mother is depending on you. I am so pleased that you are _finally_ showing some sense of responsibility.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, Ulla smacked her fork down and commanded, “Charlton. Quit being a fool and quit listening to your worthless father. Walter. I report to Zachary too, or had you forgotten that little fact? Lannie. Tomorrow we’re going into the village right after breakfast. Be ready because if you aren’t, I will drag you there by your hair, dressed or undressed.”

Then she leapt to her feet and marched out of the dining room, wrenching the door open even as a footman scrambled madly over a chair trying to beat her to it.

“Well,” Walter said urbanely. “The stress of fixing this ramshackle corner of DelFino is getting to my dear cousin. It’s not like Ulla to make silly jokes. Charlton as daimyo. Hah!”

He left too, laughing heartily all the way, leaving Charlton and Lannie behind.

They picked at what was left of dinner in moody silence, until Charlton got up and said, “Lannie. Whoever the Orlov harpy is, she won’t be you and she sure won’t be Ulla.”

Lannie sat alone, wondering again what she was missing. She also considered the look of hurt betrayal and pain that flashed across her brother’s face, before returning to its normal, tired sullenness. Had their father always belittled Charlton and she was only now noticing? Did she belittle Charlton because she was following in daddy’s footsteps? It was a painful notion. Ulla, who didn’t suffer anyone’s incompetence gladly, never jeered at Charlton, even while she didn’t hesitate to put everyone else in their place. Including her. Lannie DelFino. And what did Ulla mean when she reminded Walter that she reported to Zachary too? It was unquestionable she reported back to the daimyo. That’s why he had sent her in the first place. And all the while, she was running out of time. Walter had better be right.

* * *

Breakfast was Lannie’s favorite meal. She liked to linger over tea, enjoying the coolness of the morning while reading. Not this morning. If she had learned anything from the weeks under her cousin’s strict tutelage it was that Ulla never said anything she didn’t mean.

Mama had coughed all night and did not join them at breakfast. That was worrisome as she normally could be relied upon to enjoy her toast and tea and talk about which flowers were blooming, then wander the weedy gardens to pick multiple bouquets’ worth to place throughout the main floor. Flower arranging was one of the few skills mama had taught to Lannie. Even Ulla had been impressed, deferring to both mama and Lannie over the arrangements.

Despite their early start, they were not the first people to enter the dining room. Charlton and Walter had already shoveled down breakfast and left, as evidenced by the ravaged buffet and dirty dishes left scattered about.

Ulla frowned at the dining room in general.

“Damnation. You weren’t fast enough, Lannie. Those two got the horses. We’ll have to take the gig.”

“If they got the horses, then won’t we have to walk to the village?” Lannie asked pertly, as she filled her plate with the remains of sliced fruit, lukewarm eggs, and cold toast.

Ulla rolled her eyes and made a face at Lannie. “They always ride so they took the riding horses we brought, not your carriage horses.” She didn’t say dummy but Lannie could hear it. “You’re not a good horsewoman and I planned on giving you some pointers on the way in.” She searched in vain for ham, frowned again, and dug into her eggs, rabbit sausage, and fried plantains.

Lannie groaned. “Let me guess. Daimyahs have to be outstanding equestrians as well?”

Ulla smirked. “You’re catching on, Lannie. As the daimyah of Orlov, it’s your duty and privilege to set the example. You’ll be judged on your horsemanship along with everything else.”

“The fun will never end,” Lannie muttered between hurried bites. “Walter better be right.”

Ulla had sharp ears.

“Walter? What does Walter have to do with your marrying the daimyo of Orlov?”

Lannie thought fast. “He’s been telling me about what his mother does as daimyah.”

“Really? Walter?” Ulla turned away and murmured, “maybe I misjudged him.”

Lannie puzzled over that for a moment, then turned to the more important topic.

“Why are we going into the village today?”

“To discuss the duties a daimyah owes to her peasants. Never forget, Lannie, there are a lot more peasants than there are members of the aristocracy. They work for us, but even so, we do have some obligations towards them, starting with making sure they’re taken care of. Like livestock or fields, peasants don’t produce if they’re neglected.”

Lannie grimaced. “That sounds callous.”

“It’s accurate, Lannie,” Ulla sniffed with disdain. “I don’t see you on your knees scrubbing floors or out in the fields hoeing yams. Four Hundred members who sit on their rumps all day reading trashy novels or gambling are the ones who die in peasant revolts. I’ve been amazed every single day since I got here that your peasants hadn’t burned down the manor house while you were sleeping or that Cook hadn’t poisoned you.”

“Gleesh.” Lannie looked over at Ulla, eating rapidly yet without a single dropped crumb. “Charlton said something like that.”

“Because Charlton pays more attention than you do. Finish up. I’ve got to get the maids started cleaning the dining room. That housekeeper of yours isn’t any better sober than she was when she was drunk all the time.”

Lannie swallowed the last of her tea. She could feel large, unchewed lumps of fruit trying to work their way down to her stomach. Ulla, damn her, probably didn’t have the same problem. The tea helped and she poured herself another cup.

“We don’t have time for you to waste over tea, Lannie.”

“We don’t have time for me to throw up my breakfast either and the tea helps settle it,” Lannie retorted.

“I suppose, but hurry up.”

“The village isn’t going anywhere.”

Ulla looked around the room and lowered her voice to impart a confidence.

“I need to talk to the apothecary. About your mother.”

“Oh.” Lannie chewed on her lip. “Ulla, I think mama’s getting worse.”

Ulla frowned. “So do I. I want to ask that apothecary some questions about exactly what tisane he’s been compounding for your mother.”

“She,” Lannie corrected her, happy to finally have found something Ulla didn’t know. “Mistress Vaughn took over the shop after her husband died last year. She’s far more skilled with herbs than her husband ever was.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. She probably did most of the day-to-day work herself anyways. That said ….” Ulla stopped herself and picked up a fork and began tapping it rhythmically into the side of her teacup.

Lannie watched her carefully. What was going on? Nothing stopped Ulla from telling everyone around her what to do and how to improve themselves. She even insisted on reading improving novels, sneering at Lannie’s own choices in literature. But Ulla kept tapping her teacup with her fork. When she stopped, she stared into the teacup, as if baffled by the message the clumps of wet leaves were sending.

“Mama’s getting worse, Ulla. I know daddy has a bad reputation in the DelFino family, but why does mama have to be punished because of him?” Lannie demanded.

“She shouldn’t be. She is sick. I’ve written to Zachery on the subject,” Ulla said. She pushed her teacup away and picked up her fork.

“I did too. He told me ‘no’.” Lannie admitted.

“Your worthless father really burned his bridges,” Ulla said, frowning and forcibly stilling her hand from tapping the fork into the side of her teacup. “This shouldn’t be happening. Anyways, on the way to the village I want you to tell me everything you can remember about your mother’s illness.”

“Shouldn’t you ask daddy?” Lannie winced. “No, I guess not. He’s not reliable.”

“No. He’s not. I’ve spoken to auntie Constance, but she’s, well,” Ulla waved her fork in the air. “Vague. I don’t know how to describe it. I don’t have medical training but I do know a few basics. We’ll talk to the apothecary first. Then the rest of the important people in the village.” Then she began gnawing on her left little fingernail, making Lannie stare. Her perfect, competent cousin never bit her nails, yet that nail was in sad shape, compared to the other nine perfectly shaped dusty pink ovals.

What was she missing, Lannie wondered again. But at least Ulla was taking mama’s illness seriously. Zachery would listen to her, even if he didn’t listen to anyone else from this particular corner of DelFino.

* * *

Once they were seated in the gig and on the way, Lannie began telling Ulla everything she remembered about mama’s illness. Ulla questioned everything she said, forcing her to work out more exact timelines and circumstances. To no surprise, Ulla handled a gig competently enough to easily carry on a conversation at the same time she managed a road with a surface like corduroy. They were close to the village attached to the manor house when a raucous laugh and shouts from the nearby fields interrupted their conversation.

The muddy dirt road they were traveling on, rutted and badly in need of being regraded, ran between fields, pastures, and orchards on its way to the village. Wide, shallow ditches flanked the road on both sides, allowing rainwater to run off the road and water the fields. The ruts in the road tested the gig’s springs along with Lannie’s spine. Zachary, during his inspection all those weeks ago, had commented acidly that this corner of DelFino had the worst roads on Mars.

How were you supposed to maintain dirt roads? Lannie had wondered at the time but she hadn’t dared ask the daimyo and reveal her ignorance. Each jolt of her spine made her wonder anew.

Mercifully, Ulla was also sidetracked by more shouts and laughter, reining the horse to a stop. Lannie twisted in the gig’s seat, eager for a distraction from the jolting and the knowledge — revealed by Ulla’s probing questions — of how little attention she had paid to the details of her mother’s illness. Charlton (it was horrifying to recall) had been correct.

A cluster of grubby peasants were standing in a nearby field. There were several more down in the wide ditch that fed into the roadside ditch. A pair of white horses were tied to a row of trees close by, keeping them out of the sun. She looked, then looked more carefully. Some of the peasants were stripped to the waist, their upper bodies smeared with mud as were their faces. She didn’t recognize anyone, but that was no surprise. Or did she?

Ulla was staring too.

“Is that Walter?” Lannie asked and pointed.

Ulla looked to where Lannie was pointing. A tall, well-dressed man, his back to them, stood off to the side. His blond hair caught the morning sun while he watched the peasants laboring in the ditch.

“Yes, looks like it. Those are our horses so it can’t be anyone else.” The phrase ‘open your eyes and pay attention, dummy’ was left unspoken but could still be easily heard.

“Then where is Charlton?” Lannie demanded. It was a chance to score a point. “Guess you misjudged him, Ulla. He must be hiding again.”

Ulla didn’t bother turning her head to see her cousin’s face. She kept her eyes fixed on the half-naked, muddy peasants climbing out of the ditch.

“I think Charlton was in the ditch. Gracious. I didn’t know he looked like that.”

Lannie twisted to see Ulla’s face. Her practical cousin wore an odd expression, one she’d never seen before. Appreciation of a man’s body. Of Charlton? Impossible.

“Gracious,” Ulla said again, riveted.

“What is Charlton doing in a ditch with a bunch of dirty peasants?” Lannie demanded. She stared too. That was definitely her brother, smeared with mud from head to toe. She’d recognize that heavy jawline and stocky, thuggish appearance anywhere. More amazing than the mud was that her brother was apparently laughing and joking with the peasants around him. She hadn’t seen Charlton laugh in a long time.

“Helping them dig it out, I think,” Ulla replied absently. “He’s carrying a shovel like the rest of the ditch crew.”

“Why would they, why would Charlton be in the ditch?” Lannie asked again. “It’s already dug.”

“Drainage ditches have to be redug and cleared of overgrown weeds on a regular basis, Lannie,” Ulla said. “Like everything else, they have to be maintained. You know, all the routine maintenance your worthless father didn’t bother to have done. Why they’re doing it now, I don’t know.”

Lannie thought about the mud. “Maybe because of all the rain?”

Ulla smiled; a nanny pleased with a clever toddler. “Could be. As to why Charlton was down in the ditch instead of supervising and staying clean like Walter? I guess we’ll have to ask him at dinner. Gracious. He really isn’t anything like your worthless father.”

“Yes, mama says he takes after her Ranaglia side of the family,” Lannie said.

“I’d have to agree,” Ulla said dryly. “Gracious.” She yanked her eyes back to the road before her, whistled sharply to the horse, snapped the reins, and they trotted down the rutted road into the village.

The apothecary’s shop was in the small center square; one of several tiny struggling shops arranged around the public fountain. Ulla slowly drove all around the square, taking in what she saw. Lannie did not get the impression Ulla was parading herself to be admired as daddy would have. Far from it.

“Is this your first time in the village?” Lannie asked. “I mean, since you arrived in our little corner of DelFino?”

“Yes,” Ulla replied. “The cottages and shops look just as shabby, especially after the rain we’ve had, but your peasants don’t look as miserable. Charlton and Walter must be having an effect.”

“Walter, sure,” Lannie said and then swallowed the nasty remark she would have made about her brother’s laziness. That was something daddy would have said and it clearly wasn’t true if Charlton was willing to get dirty wielding a shovel.

“Charlton too, Lannie,” Ulla said sharply. “Show some loyalty and quit thinking about yourself all the time.”

“I am not,” Lannie snapped back. “We’re supposed to be here to visit the apothecary about mama. There’s her shop.” She pointed towards a cottage, its thatch in better repair than most, and its whitewashed sides almost fresh. This cottage stood out from its fellows, as if someone had money to spend on its maintenance.

“True.” Ulla whistled and reined in the horse. They climbed down from the gig and Ulla tossed a coin to a barefoot, ragged boy to hold her horse for her while she and Lannie went inside.

At the front door, Ulla paused. “Mistress Vaughn grows her herbs?”

“I think so. Behind her shop. She probably lives upstairs,” Lannie answered.

“But you don’t know for sure?”

“No, I don’t,” Lannie said and sighed inwardly. It was a given Ulla knew every important villager in _her_ corner of DelFino, and exactly what they did on a daily basis. Mama had never bothered herself over the lives of their peasants and so Lannie hadn’t either. Charlton was right. It was astonishing the peasants hadn’t burned down the manor house in the middle of the night and claimed it was an accident. Whoever the daimyo would have sent to manage this corner of DelFino would have been more capable than Albion and Constance. She drooped, then stiffened her spine. She, Lannie DelFino, wasn’t ignorant any more. Like Charlton, she could do better.

The shop bell jingled, alerting Mistress Vaughn. She wasn’t in the shop and that gave Lannie time to look around. It had been months since the last time she’d been inside. The large windows let light pour inside. The orderly small room was lined with cupboards and open shelves. A bamboo counter divided the space, with more cupboards behind it. Those cupboards held more important items since they sported expensive glass fronts and locks. The shelves held bottles, small boxes, and equipment to grind herbs and mix tinctures, salves, and tisanes. The air was scented with competing plant odors from the dozens of branches of herbs strung up overhead and slowly drying. Every flat surface was whitewashed, making the space seem brighter and larger than it was. The stone flags forming the floor had been recently scrubbed. Mistress Vaughn was a fastidious housekeeper, or her apprentice was.

Another bell jangled and the curtain behind the counter was drawn back as Mistress Vaughn bustled into the room. She was about mama’s age, Lannie thought; buxom and attractive with her still dark hair smoothed back and her dark blue dress immaculate. She wore dainty enameled earrings shaped like daisies. They glowed against her dark green skin, their yellow centers like tiny suns.

“Miss Lannie,” Mistress Vaughn gushed as soon as she saw them. “And this lovely young lady must be Miss Ulla.”

“Yes, Mistress Vaughn, that is correct,” Lannie said smoothly before Ulla could say something. She could at least pretend she knew Mistress Vaughn well.

“And how is your poor, dear father holding up?” Mistress Vaughn asked. “It is so sad, your dear mama’s illness. I’ve been working so hard on my tisanes for your mama. I’m so hopeful that they’ve been helping her. Your poor father.”

“Yes, Mistress Vaughn,” Lannie said. “I believe they have.”

“I have some questions about your tisanes,” Ulla said, getting right to the point. “I’m interested in learning more about how such remedies are compounded because yours have been working so well for my lady Constance. I’m afraid I know nothing at all about herbs but I would like to learn for when I marry and leave DelFino.”

Lannie shot Ulla a puzzled glance. Ulla hadn’t previously said one word about learning herbal remedies. And truthfully, she hadn’t seen any improvements in mama’s health no matter what new tisane Mistress Vaughn concocted.

“Oh, my dear Miss Ulla. You flatter me,” Mistress Vaughn gushed.

“My lord Albion was most complementary of your skills,” Ulla said.

“He is so generous,” Mistress Vaughn said with a warm smile. “So devoted to my Lady Constance. Every husband should be so loving and caring as my lord Albion is.” She sighed dreamily.

Lannie shot a glance at Ulla. Her cousin wore a bland, smiling expression that was most unlike her usual look where she pointed out every inconsistency and mistake. Almost as though Ulla didn’t want Mistress Vaughn to know what she really thought about Albion DelFino. Interesting and very strange.

“Yes, daddy cares deeply about mama’s health,” Lannie said. An expression of distaste flashed across Mistress Vaughn’s face but so swiftly she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a trick of the light.

“The herbs in the tisanes, Mistress Vaughn?” Ulla said firmly. “I’d like a written list and some samples. And would you be kind enough to show me how you compound such a complex blend and where you grow your herbs? That way, I’ll know how managing herbs should be done _properly_ when I marry out of DelFino.”

“Yes, of course, Miss Ulla, Miss Lannie,” Mistress Vaughn said, all smiles again. “Right this way.”

Lannie and Ulla spent several hours examining everything that Mistress Vaughn did, even getting to watch her concoct a stomach remedy for one villager and a pain remedy for another. Both Lannie and Ulla insisted that Mistress Vaughn take care of the villagers while they waited. It gave them a chance to see how adept Mistress Vaughn was in diagnosing a customer and then mixing up exactly what they needed from the stock on hand. The apothecary gradually relaxed as she showed off her equipment and her skills, her extensive herb garden, and discussed what plants she grew, why, which parts mattered, and how she preserved them for later use. She knew the value of every single plant in her garden, even warning Lannie which ones not to touch without gloves.

* * *

“That was really interesting,” Lannie said once they were back outside of the apothecary’s shop. “I had no idea there were so many different herbs with so many uses.”

“Yes, I was impressed too,” Ulla said thoughtfully. “Mistress Vaughn is very skilled. Anyway. I’ve got a list of other important people in the village, people you need to know.”

“I’ll be at Orlov,” Lannie said sharply.

“Orlov has villages and peasants. As the daimyah, you’ll need to know what to expect so you might as well practice now,” Ulla shot back. “This will take all day so we’ll eat lunch at the pub. They must have something edible, especially since I’ll be paying hard coin for it.”

* * *

As Ulla predicted, it did take all day and with each interview, Lannie saw repeatedly how little she knew about a village and peasants she should have been familiar with. It was embarrassing.

It was a relief to climb back into the gig and head back on the rutted road to the manor house. Only the road wasn’t as rutted. Someone had somehow managed to smooth out the worst of the ruts.

“This is much nicer,” Lannie said as they bounced along. Ulla had the reins again, astonishing since this was a golden opportunity to discover yet another area that Lannie needed improvements in. She drove the gig often enough, but Ulla, no surprise, was noticeably better at handling it.

“It is,” Ulla agreed. “Maybe Walter and Charlton did it. We’ll ask at dinner.”

But Charlton didn’t stay for dinner that night.


	11. Does it make you feel good to pimp out your daughter to get her mother medical care?

Lannie slid easily into her seat at the dinner table, marveling as she looked around the spacious room. The footman stepped back; his duty done for the moment. Much had changed since the formal dinner weeks ago when Zachary conducted his inspection of their little corner of DelFino. The memory of what the daimyo had to say about incompetent hospitality still made her cringe.

The table linens, while still stained, were washed, ironed, and crisp with starch. The stains had been bleached into ghosts of their former selves. The crystal sparkled, including the crystal chandelier shimmering over the table and hadn’t that been a miserable all-hands job taking down and handwashing every last one of the hundreds of prisms and then reattaching them without leaving fingerprints to mar their beauty. The heavy monogrammed silverware was no longer tarnished. More importantly, the tines of the forks didn’t have to be inspected before use for cleanliness. Neither did the plates.

Service had improved too. The serving dishes had been reunited with their matching covers, ensuring the food remained at its correct temperature longer. The two footmen served dinner as if they were at the DelFino townhouse in Barsoom, their livery verging on pristine instead of being stained and rumpled. The food itself remained as it was. Ulla, who had otherwise transformed virtually every aspect of the crumbling manor house, had drawn the line at dealing with Cook after her nearly fatal encounter. Fortunately for everyone’s stomach, Cook knew what she was doing even while refusing to take menu directions from anyone but herself.

The manor house itself was still crumbling, but there was now a written plan of attack addressing the many repairs needed. A separate list addressed the repairs that could not be done in-house, if money could be found. Zachery had sent word that he would not be supplying additional funds since he didn’t trust anyone in the house to manage money properly.

Servants’ gossip told Lannie that Walter and Charlton had worked miracles in the village and its fields, pastures, and orchards. The work was by no means complete: it would be a decade or more before this corner of DelFino met basic standards, but it was a beginning. There was hope.

Except for her, of course.

Unless Walter’s plan worked, she had no hope. All the improvements and hard work meant nothing to her. Like the sparkling crystal and the heavily starched napkins folded into fans that stood up on their own, they were mere distractions from her dreadful future.

***

Albion had been waiting for her and Ulla’s return from the village at the front door of the manor house. He watched impatiently — crossed arms, cross expression, and loudly tapping his foot — while Ulla instructed a groom on how the horse had behaved and her concerns over the hoof it had openly favored on the return from the village. The groom led both horse and gig to the stables and as soon as he was out of earshot, Albion strutted down the steps to the broad stage-like platform at their base, posed to show his best side, and began to declaim his prepared speech.

“Yilanda! Your marriage approaches! You, and you alone, will have rescued your mother from certain death!”

Lannie stared at her father, as did Ulla.

“I’d forgotten how your father likes to outgas like an old ham on stage,” Ulla said, pitching her voice louder and screechier than usual.

“Yes, he does like emoting,” Lannie replied with a curled lip. She’d been doing her best to ignore the doom-laden train racing towards her. She felt, again, like a maiden in a melodrama, tied to the tracks in a frilly dress while praying for some hero to rescue her. It wasn’t going to be Charlton, and if Walter didn’t come through, she was stuck marrying the wheezing geezer daimyo of Orlov. Shondra’s most recent letter had supplied more gruesome details about his lecherous personal habits and treatment of wives. It was nauseating.

Despite his best efforts not to, Albion heard them. “Yilanda,” he said, his voice back to normal. “You are not taking your mother’s health seriously, nor are you properly grateful to me, your _father_ , for the fabulous marriage I have arranged for you.”

“Yes, _daddy_. You are so right, _daddy_. I am truly looking forward to being pawed at and beaten by some decrepit geezer, _daddy_. I have to get cleaned up for dinner, _daddy_ ,” Lannie shrieked and stomped past her father and into the manor house.

Ulla lingered, blocking the door and preventing Albion from following his daughter and continuing his lecture.

“Does it make you feel good to pimp out your daughter to get her mother medical care? Care _you_ could have paid for or DelFino would have paid for, if only you’d been a better, decent, responsible man like your own grandfather apparently was?” she asked sweetly and then stalked in, leaving Albion DelFino alone on stage and without the audience he craved.

* * *

The family assembled for dinner, lacking only grandfather. Grandfather still rarely came down to dinner, preferring a tray in his suite which was a relief to everyone else. Ulla had managed to get him and his quarters cleaned up; she had not managed to fully dry him out or improve his temper.

Charlton entered the dining room last but did not seat himself.

“I can’t stay for dinner,” he declared. All the mud was long gone, his hair was damp, and even more amazing, he must have coaxed Albion’s valet into shaving off his usual five-o’clock shadow. He had dressed with far more care than usual, as though he was planning to attend services.

Lannie rose at once and buttonholed him, making sure he couldn’t avoid her. “Daddy says he has an announcement to make about my awful fate. Don’t you want to be here for that?”

“Not really. You can tell me in the morning.”

“What?”

“This is more important, Lannie, so quit worrying,” Charlton said. “You get to escape our little corner of DelFino. I’m stuck here and if I want to run this place better, for me, for mama, and” — he grimaced — “my future wife, the Orlov harpy, then I’ve got to be in the village tonight.”

“What do a pack of peasants matter when we’re discussing your sister’s future?” Albion interrupted. “Don’t walk away from me, young man. I am your _father_.”

Charlton went still, his shoulders tight with fury. He marched up to his father, getting close enough to strike him. His fists were clenched and his face livid with anger.

“That pack of peasants are who feed us, _dad_. You ruined my sister’s future, like you ruined mine, _dad_. I’m cleaning up your mess now and I’ll keep cleaning up your mess and grandfather’s mess for the rest of my life, _dad_. I would also like to show the Orlov harpy I’m marrying sight unseen that she’s not getting the worst marriage on Mars, _dad_.”

“But Charlton!” Lannie protested. “What about _my_ marrying into Orlov?”

“You agreed to this fiasco, just like I did.” Charlton slumped and sighed tiredly as the anger drained from his face and he loosened his hands. “I’ve got over a hundred people depending on me while you’ll be draped in pearls and eating off gold plates in Orlov. Plus, mama will get her medical care. Try and think about someone besides yourself, sissy. I do it every day.”

He pushed Lannie away gently and leaned down to whisper as he did so, “Quit worrying. If I can help you, I will, but dad can’t suspect even the tiniest bit or he’ll ruin us and mama more than he already has.”

She took another step back, looking and feeling betrayed. He cleaned up for peasants but not for the family. He didn’t care about her. His promise was as empty of meaning as their father’s promises were.

“Walter was right,” she said coldly. “I can’t depend on you. You don’t care.”

It was her brother’s turn to look hurt and betrayed, the expressions flashing across his face before it returned to his usual weary sullenness.

“I don’t know why I keep expecting anything better from you or anyone else in our branch of the family and yet I keep hoping,” Charlton said. “I really am stupid, just like dad says.” Then he stomped out, leaving behind a room seething with confusion, anger, embarrassment, and resentment.

Constance broke the silence.

“Isn’t Charlton staying for dinner? Cook made rabbit stew and I’m sure it’s his favorite,” she said. She looked around the dining room table, as if puzzled by the array of unfamiliar faces. Then she picked up her wineglass full of Mistress Vaughn’s newest tisane and stared into its murky depths, lost again to the people around her.

Mistress Vaughn had pressed her latest concoction into Lannie’s hands as she and Ulla left her shop earlier in the day. “Your dearest father will be so pleased with this batch,” she had murmured. “It is just what your mama needs.” The color, when brewed, was unappealing and the angelica root didn’t do enough to mask the underlying scent.

Ulla took a contemptuous look around. It was clear no one else would say something so, slave to duty that she was, she said, “no, auntie Constance. Charlton has an appointment in the village.”

“Yeah,” Lannie muttered. “Something more important than us. More important than me.”

“He’ll be fine, my dearest wife,” Albion said and lifted his wineglass. His glass held red wine from the slowly depleting cellar, another of his arguments with Zachery since the daimyo refused to pay to restock it. “Yilanda, ignore your failure of a brother.”

He stood up and posed.

“A toast to our dear Yilanda! I’ve received word today that transportation has been arranged. We’ll be leaving for Barsoom in the morning. Zachary will also be allowing us to use the DelFino townhouse while we await the great day.” He beamed at everyone around him. Only Constance smiled back, but she didn’t speak, only blinked in her confusion.

“Can’t wait,” Lannie muttered and took refuge in eating her rabbit stew. Every bite was tasteless despite Cook’s lavish hand with pepper.

No one else raised their glass or contributed to the toast, leaving an awkward silence.

Walter chuckled suddenly, breaking the quiet sounds of clinking silverware against porcelain and changed the subject. “Since Charlton isn’t here to be embarrassed again, I can tell you what happened to us today. It was so funny. Everyone laughed, except poor Charlton, of course.”

“Well, do tell us, Walter,” Albion said. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“We left early this morning because the ditches needed to be redug and the rain made the conditions perfect,” Walter began. He winked at Ulla as if to say ‘you saw how overgrown they were on our arrival’, then continued. “Poor Charlton was leaning over the ditch, trying to see how some peasant was recurving the slope, and he slipped and slid right into the mud. Covered head to toe. Everyone laughed so hard. So clumsy. Such a pity.”

Lannie stared at Walter, then glanced over at Ulla. Charlton was muddy, sure, but if he was being laughed at, he thought it was funny too. He had been laughing as well.

Ulla glanced quickly at Walter and then gave Lannie a tiny, warning shake of her head along with a much bigger kick under the table.

Walter laughed heartily, then added, “later on in the day, we began regrading the main road. Charlton just couldn’t stop tripping over his own feet, getting the road-grade hitched up to the team. I did my best, but I couldn’t get the peasants to show more respect.”

Albion chuckled with glee. “Walter, with some work polishing your stories, you’ll be on every hostess’s guest list. Let’s start with details. Rainy or sunny? Any particularly funny-looking peasants? Comparisons to animals? A witty bon-mot perhaps?” He then began discussing ways to embellish, exaggerate, and embroider a story until it was unrecognizable to the original participants while becoming highly amusing to the listeners.

Ulla waited until Albion ran out of words. “Very interesting. Exactly what I would have expected from you, Albion. Walter, let me remind you that I report to the daimyo as well. Lannie, if we’re leaving in the morning, we need to start packing right after dessert.”

Lannie looked over at Walter, chuckling over Charlton’s travails, and felt unease steal over her. She and Ulla hadn’t witnessed the regrading of the road, but nothing in his discussion with Albion about Charlton and the ditch matched what she remembered. Could she be remembering wrongly? Or was Walter twisting the facts? She knew what Charlton would say, but he also wasn’t going to help save her from marrying the daimyo of Orlov. And why had Ulla reminded Walter that she reported to Zachery too? Again.

Maybe — perish the thought — Ulla was right. She didn’t think enough. She drifted through her days like mama, oblivious. She couldn’t do that anymore, not if she wanted to figure out what was going on around her. More worrisome was thinking about Walter. What if she couldn’t rely on him to save her from the daimyo of Orlov?

* * *

After dinner, Ulla marched Lannie upstairs to her own bedchamber, not giving her a chance to escape.

“We have to talk,” Ulla said firmly.

“About my not marrying the daimyo of Orlov?” Lannie asked hopefully.

“About your trousseau. Let’s see what you’ve got that won’t shame DelFino, especially since we won’t have much time to shop in Barsoom. Your worthless father must be desperate for money, insisting on you marrying on your eighteenth birthday. He couldn’t wait a single day?”

Ulla began yanking Lannie’s clothes out of closets and drawers, tsking over the total lack of currently fashionable style.

“At least everything is in good repair,” she muttered, holding up a beautifully darned petticoat, the tiny white stitches forming a decorative pattern against the crisp white muslin.

“Mama taught me fine sewing,” Lannie said.

“Thank Gods she did,” Ulla replied absently. “That and flower arranging. You’ll be prepared for every eventuality.”

“Was that a joke?”

“I don’t have a sense of humor, Lannie, so I’d say no.”

Lannie grabbed a party dress, woefully out of date but still pretty, from Ulla’s hands. “Stop fussing over my clothes. Why did Walter lie about Charlton?”

Ulla frowned down at the pile of dainty underclothing she was rapidly sorting through. “I don’t know. Charlton’s been working hard. I can see it even if none of you can. Walter can be a prig, but he’s very capable and this pettiness isn’t called for. It undercuts why Zachery sent him; to get this corner of DelFino back under control.”

“Is Walter trustworthy?” Lannie blurted out.

Ulla stared at Lannie in consternation. “He certainly is. Zachery wouldn’t have sent him here otherwise to train Charlton.”

She lifted her left hand to her mouth and gnawed at her littlest fingernail, then yanked it away from her mouth. She turned to meet Lannie’s eyes.

“Lannie, I’ll be honest with you. Zachery was so angry over the condition of your corner of DelFino, he was ready to send you all packing. Auntie Constance could have repatriated to Ranaglia with you and Charlton. I don’t know what would have happened to your worthless father and useless grandfather, because the daimyo was planning on telling Ranaglia to not give them sanctuary. Just your mama, Charlton, and you.”

“I didn’t know it, _daddy_ , was that bad,” Lannie whispered and slumped down onto the bed onto a heap of lace shawls. Even more shocking was that DelFino would send her and Charlton away.

“Do not tell anyone I told you this. The only reason your father still holds onto this corner of DelFino is because it’s in his direct line of inheritance, going back five generations. Zachery hoped Charlton could be salvaged. Your father did not present Charlton to Zachery in the best light. I don’t know why. Neither did you. Constance was — vague is the only word. Your village headman did praise him, along with other villagers, and so did the stablehands so Zachery went with their recommendation.”

“Gleesh. I had no idea.”

“Because you don’t think, Lannie. You’re going to have to when you marry Orlov, so you better start now. You’ve got a castle to manage and an entire family to work with who see you as wife number four.”

“I don’t want to marry that man,” Lannie said firmly.

“You already said you would and DelFinos don’t go back on their word.” Ulla shrugged. “Except for your father and grandfather. Don’t be like them. Ring for the maids to start packing what I choose.”

“Not yet,” Lannie said quickly. “Daddy said you were already planning your own wedding. Is that true?”

Ulla scowled at the garment in her hands. “Not exactly. I’ve got some prospects the DelFino matchmakers have arranged for me. I’ll be meeting them in Barsoom after your wedding. The conclave is in minor session so lots of people will be in the city.”

Lannie thought for a moment and then decided not to comment on how her cousin probably terrified every man she met into racing for the exits. “But you’ve made plans?”

“Certainly. I like being prepared. Ring for the maids and let’s get this done.” Ulla’s face went still and tight. “Your mama will be there to see you get married. Make her proud.”

The memory roared back of the scandal about Ulla’s branch of DelFino that Lannie hadn’t been able to recall earlier. Ulla’s mother had walked out on her and her father, for no reason that anyone would speak about.

“Yes, Ulla,” Lannie said and swallowed hard. “I will do my best.”

* * *

Iolanthe sweated over what she would say to Rastislav about the maid, Nelly. She wrote out her speech, rewrote it, ripped it up and started over. How could she get him to agree to anything if he didn’t think it was his own idea? He expected her own lady’s maid of longstanding, Olga, to accompany her. Nelly was still his open favorite, even if she was (according to the gossip) increasingly reluctant. Damnation. Why had she agreed to help the maid? Iolanthe sighed and put down her pen. Because she couldn’t countenance Rastislav abusing anyone.

That led directly to the increasingly uncomfortable knowledge that she was condemning the DelFino girl to a miserable life. Even if the girl’s own letter condemned her as a lying slut, she deserved better than Rastislav Orlov as a husband. And there was the risk that she would manage, somehow and someway, to present the daimyo with an heir.

Iolanthe tapped her pen on the desk thoughtfully. The problem was that Rastislav’s direct line was composed of vicious and incompetent drunkards. If the DelFino girl conceived a son for the daimyo with a lover, that line would be broken. Even if Rastislav discovered he had been cuckolded, would he admit to such a thing? He might not. But he would still have the raising of the unfortunate child or children.

Worse, the DelFino girl could conceive a host of sons by an army of lovers but that didn’t change the true issue: Orlov insisted on its daimyos being chosen by primogeniture rather than the sensible system of the family voting for the most competent and capable leader. There were problems with that method to be sure, starting with hard feelings and ending with open warfare between family branches but it had to be a better method than what Orlov used. At least the family would be capably led, rather than having a vicious sot at the helm.

If Rastislav died without an heir, the family would be forced to change their tradition and join the modern world.

Iolanthe stretched out her cramped fingers and shifted in her chair, wiggling her toes until the annoying tingle from hip to toe stopped. She was trapped too. If the DelFino girl married Rastislav, she could escape. Gods alone knew what Charlton DelFino was really like but Dimitri didn’t think he would be an abusive failure of a husband. While she escaped to DelFino, Orlov would be damaged for more generations to come.

However, if she somehow stopped the marriage, she’d be trapped in Orlov. She shuddered, thinking of how the sot would take out his increasing fury on her, papa, and Dimitri. Uncle Ljubo and Auntie Quintana would suffer too, since they were known to be close confidants of papa. And their young sons, innocent of all plotting. It didn’t bear thinking about.

Damn Rastislav. Why couldn’t he have died while he writhed in his sweaty fever? He had made a full recovery and strutted around Orlov castle talking about the sons he would father on the DelFino girl. If Madame Orlov had gone to the trouble of returning from the grave and speaking to him in his dreams, why hadn’t she said anything useful that would save the demesne?

Maybe she could poison him and everyone’s troubles would be over. Except she didn’t know enough about herbs to manage such a feat without being discovered. If she succeeded, she might get away with it. Even Rastislav’s own creatures might forgive her. But if she failed and Rastislav found out? She shuddered all over again. She would welcome death.

All those plans she and papa and Dimitri had made; the plans papa and Uncle Ljubo and Morley had made; the sot had ruined them all. Every time they worked out a new solution, the sot managed to thwart them. He would not listen to anyone’s counsel but his own.

Iolanthe reached for the day’s mail, riffling through letters she had already read. No one in her social network knew anyone from DelFino so she still had no idea what Yilanda and Charlton DelFino were really like. Introductions via letter were being made, but it all took so much time and she was out of time. Yilanda DelFino turned eighteen very soon. Rastislav had already made the travel arrangements for himself, his servants, Dimitri, and her. He _wanted_ that girl badly (no surprise given her pornographic letter), badly enough to marry her in Barsoom as she had demanded even though the marriage would have to take place again once they reached Orlov. He _wanted_ her firm young body under his own gross, slobbering one enough to bring the Pearls of Orlov with him to Barsoom and drape them all over the DelFino girl to ensure conception. At least papa and uncle Ljubo had been able to persuade him to take most of the replica set, leaving its minor pieces behind. Madame Orlov was the only woman who had ever had the nerve to wear _all_ the Pearls. No other daimyah ever had, even on her wedding day.

She wished papa could have come along but Rastislav insisted he remain to ‘see to the running of the demesne’. He actually meant ‘as a hostage’ to her and Dimitri’s continued good behavior. Did he fear she and Dimitri would run away in Barsoom and tattle to gossip columnists? They would never shame the demesne like that. More importantly, they had no money. Rastislav kept everyone in the family on a very short leash, financially speaking, although he was the most profligate man alive when it came to indulging his own desires.

They could run away in Barsoom, but papa would suffer and they would be destitute. Dimitri might find work but her? She could manage a castle with a staff of hundreds but all any employer would see was her cane.

Iolanthe stood and stretched and walked to the far wall of her tiny office, then across it again. Her anxiety was making the nerve tingle return. She should see the acupuncturist in Nourz again but Rastislav hadn’t allowed for a single extra moment in the schedule. Damn him.

Her mind skittered in erratic circles, the thoughts chasing each other like leaves caught in a dust devil.

What could she say to him to get Nelly away? She _needed_ Olga and Rastislav wouldn’t allow her to take two maids with her to DelFino, not when one of them was his current favorite bedwarmer.

She knew very little about Charlton DelFino except Dimitri thought marrying him would not be a mistake. That was a pleasant thought. To have a man care about her. She let herself daydream for a moment of how wonderful it would be to have a chance at love, a home of her own, children. She sighed and limped back to her chair and began tapping her pen against the blank pad of paper. It was more likely Charlton would refuse the moment he saw she was plain, crippled, and plain-spoken. He had that right, he was still a DelFino, and he could aim higher than her.

She knew nothing about Charlton’s sister, Yilanda, except she was a slut and her mother was one of the great beauties of her generation. Her pen went still. Now there was a thought. Constance Ranaglia had been stunningly beautiful by all accounts, so beautiful that even decades older, her loveliness was still astonishing compared to other women her age.

What did all beautiful women have in common? They were jealous and insecure, always fearing the passage of time robbing them of youth and beauty. There was always a younger, more beautiful girl waiting in the wings to supplant them. Gorgeous women didn’t have to develop their brains, their talents, their usefulness, their conversation, their charming personalities or their _anything_!

They didn’t have to and then they got old.

If the DelFino girl was half the beauty her mother had been, she’d be jealous and insecure, especially as she would have grown up being constantly compared to her mother and failing. She would be jealous of Nelly, a housemaid. She would make trouble for Rastislav over the maid. She probably wouldn’t be smart enough to understand that once her novelty wore off, Rastislav would revert at once to his old habits of lechery. Even as slutty as her letter indicated she was, she might not be able to accommodate the daimyo’s libido. In any case, he would get bored soon enough and revert to lifting every skirt he could. He had done so with each of his previous wives.

She could suggest to Rastislav that if Nelly accompanied her to DelFino, his new bride would have no reason to be jealous and angry over a housemaid. She would never hear the stories Nelly would tell. Yes, that could work. Rastislav’s sole interest was his own comfort and this way, he would be comfortable.

That still left the problem of him marrying the DelFino girl and possibly siring sons, but perhaps she would have a brilliant idea (no one else was) while on the train to Barsoom. Or in Barsoom. Or at the church. Or somewhere along the way. The sot could marry the DelFino girl, deflower her (hah!) in the Orlov townhouse, and have a heart attack. There must be herbs that would encourage a heart attack when combined with sweaty, vigorous exercise.

Iolanthe groaned. Her thoughts were running away from her, but she had solved one problem. She could persuade Rastislav to let her take Nelly along with Olga because it benefitted him. And, perhaps, she’d think of what to do about _him_ on the way to Barsoom. Damn him. Why couldn’t he have died from that fever and saved everyone an enormous amount of trouble?

Maybe she could accidentally push him off the train’s observation deck into some convenient, fatally deep ravine.

Her mind really was running in circles.

She caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror across from the window. What would Charlton DelFino say when he saw her, especially as compared to his own beautiful mother? Plain, crippled, and no dowry. The answer was painfully clear.

Damn Rastislav. If only he would die in Barsoom, even if he did marry the DelFino girl first. That would be an easy problem to manage since the marriage wouldn’t be fully legal. The sot had to marry her again in Orlov for _her_ to have any rights to the demesne or the Pearls. And if she didn’t turn up pregnant right away from her wedding night, well, a Pearl or two would make her go away without a fight. Or she could marry someone else in Orlov if she insisted on staying, someone like Morley. The steward needed a wife. Either way would work. Then the DelFino girl could join the rest of the young brides in the Four Hundred and wait thirty years while her husband clawed his way to the top.

The buzzing tingle worsened, making her toes cramp up. Iolanthe lurched to her feet, grabbed her cane, and began limping around her small office. Walking would often work out cramps and subdue the nerve tingle. She needed the acupuncturist in Nourz, she needed Olga’s assistance, and Nelly, while clever, was not trained as a lady’s maid.

The knock on the door startled her.

“Enter.”

Olga opened the door and stepped into the room.

“Ah,” Iolanthe said with a smile. “Olga. I was just thinking about you and our journey to Barsoom and thence to DelFino.”

“Yes, my lady,” Olga said, keeping her eyes firmly on the same potted plant Nelly had addressed. “I wish to speak with you about that.”

“Now? I have many duties waiting me. I will have time when I get dressed for dinner.” Although since Olga was here, her maid could possibly massage her calf, helping her to recover more quickly. Even though Iolanthe would normally never request Olga massage her outside of the privacy of her suite, her leg was becoming painful enough that the thought was enticing and worth the risk of being seen and commented about.

Olga fidgeted, twisting her hands in her apron as Nelly had done.

Oh dear, Iolanthe thought. Another problem.

“If I may be blunt, my lady,” Olga said slowly.

“Please,” Iolanthe said and sank down into her chair. She worked her foot back and forth and achieved a tiny miracle: the cramp began to go away on its own.

“My mam is sickly, my lady. I don’t wish to leave her because she’ll be alone and without care.”

“Oh. I understood she was doing better since your last visit?” Iolanthe asked hopefully. “Lady Bettina’s tincture did help?”

“It did help, Miss Iolanthe, and I thank you for asking Lady Bettina for it. But Lady Bettina also told us that my mam will need more and more care. My da will not be able to manage without me.”

“I see.”

“And,” Olga took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to meet Iolanthe’s own.

“My da’s neighbor has a son wishing to marry. I’ve met him and I like him. I would have to leave Orlov Castle, leave you, and live with the serfs in the village, but it would mean a cottage and a husband and a family of my own, my lady.”

“I see.” Iolanthe closed her eyes for a moment. Envy flared through her. A cottage, a husband, a family of her own. She beat it back down. Could she deny Olga, not much older than she was, a chance at such a future?

She opened them again to study Olga’s anxious face and decided. She could make one person’s life easier.

“Of course, Olga. That sounds like a worthy goal. As it happens, the housemaid, Nelly, asked me earlier if she could accompany me as my lady’s maid to Barsoom and thence to DelFino. The daimyo would not allow me to take her and you both.”

Olga stepped back, aghast. “Nelly? She’s not one I would choose as my replacement, Miss Iolanthe. That one’s a sly-boots, make no mistake on that score.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Iolanthe replied carefully. “However, she wishes to escape the daimyo and Orlov and there is no other way that I can devise.”

Olga’s face shifted with understanding. “Yes, miss. The daimyo’s new wife won’t be liking to have her around and as for the daimyo, the gossip says he’s tiring of her. He’s also getting mean to her.”

“Yes, he is. I saw the marks on her neck. I thought perhaps you could begin instructing her in my needs before we depart for Barsoom.”

“I’ll do my best, Miss Iolanthe, but if I may say so, there are other maids who would do better for you.”

“I know,” Iolanthe sighed. “But she is a clever girl so I’m sure she can manage.”

“Yes, miss,” Olga replied, tight-lipped. “I’m sure she will.”

“In the meantime, I will speak with papa and my uncle Ljubo about granting you a suitable gift for your marriage to your young man and making any other arrangements you need to ease your way.”

“Thank you, my lady Iolanthe,” Olga said, her face alight with joy at the possibilities. “It has been a privilege serving you. I’ll make sure that Nelly knows everything she needs to best take care of you.”

Iolanthe thought of their rapidly approaching date of departure. Her leg would have to wait.

“Best get started on it, then, Olga. And thank you.”

“Yes, Miss Iolanthe.”

One problem solved. But how to approach the sot?

* * *

“You think my new bride might take a dislike to a housemaid?”

Iolanthe smiled worshipfully, aiming her eyes just under the daimyo’s chin so he couldn’t see her disdain; modest, properly respectful, and hands tucked behind her back so he wouldn’t notice her crippled left hand clutching her cane.

“Madame Orlov spoke to me in a dream last night, my lord. She wishes to see many strong sons from you and your new bride. She told me she does not wish for anything to interfere with the continuation of your line. When I awoke, I thought of what might cause a problem and, well,” Iolanthe struggled to look embarrassed and distraught, as she had practiced in front of her mirror. “That maid, Nelly, might carry tales if she is jealous. If she were to travel with me to DelFino, she would never even come near your new bride. I would not wish for any possible harm to your upcoming blessed union with Yilanda DelFino.”

The sot grinned widely at her, showing his yellowed teeth and letting her smell the wine he had been swilling. He then gestured widely to the other family members sitting at tea.

“The cripple cares more for Orlov than any of you!”

“Oh, no, my lord Rastislav,” Iolanthe said hastily. “I was merely the first one so blessed by Madame Orlov’s presence in my dreams. She said she would visit each family member in turn to ensure nothing stood in the way of your siring an army of healthy sons.”

“Starting at the bottom, eh?”

“Yes, my lord Rastislav,” Iolanthe said meekly while wishing she dared shove him backwards into the teacart and pour boiling water down his throat until he drowned.

To her horror, he lifted her chin so he could study her face.

“Ugly, stupid, crippled, but not completely worthless,” Rastislav said. “I shall give you a few coins for a dowry for this service.”

“My deepest thanks, my lord,” she murmured, trying hard to not recoil at his touch and scream. “You are most generous. All of Orlov adores you.”

“As they should,” Rastislav agreed complacently.

* * *

Someone tapped at the door and opened it, revealing Lady Constance, blinking and looking confused.

“Mama?” Lannie said. “Are you ill?” She ran around the bed to her mother’s side.

Ulla moved to Lady Constance’s other side and together, the girls guided her to a nearby chair. Ulla rang at once for tea.

Once seated, Lady Constance rallied and remembered what she had come for.

“I’m fine, my darling girl, I’m fine. No need to fuss.” She coughed delicately.

“Mama,” Lannie began.

Ulla was faster. “Have a sip of my tea, auntie Constance. It will sooth your throat.”

“It’s not my tisane,” Constance murmured, staring at the cup in bewilderment.

“Yes, I know, but it’s wet and here. I rang for your own tea,” Ulla said.

“Drink some, mama,” Lannie urged her. “We’ve been packing for my trip to Barsoom to marry, um, him.”

Constance beamed. “The daimyo of Orlov! You lucky, lucky girl. I know he will be as wonderful to you as your dear father is to me. You’ll wear those luscious pearls and be the most beautiful daimyah on Mars.”

She sipped Ulla’s tea, then said, “I came because …. Why did I come again?”

“To congratulate me, mama?” Lannie asked.

Constance’s face lit up. “Yes, yes, because you’re marrying the daimyo of Orlov. I wanted to give you something of mine to wear. I have a pair of earrings I wore when I was your age and they are so appropriate for a fresh young girl like you. Enameled daisies, so pretty, so dainty, and so fresh. Like you, Yilanda.”

“Mama, they sound lovely,” Lannie gushed.

“Yes, they do,” Ulla added, looking puzzled.

“You’ll have to come to my suite to look for them. I know they are in my jewelry box somewhere,” Constance said. “You know how you love to look at my jewelry.”

“Yes,” Lannie said. “I do. You have such a beautiful collection.” She did not want to add that lately each time she admired her mother’s jewelry, there seemed to be a charm, a small brooch, or some other minor piece missing.

“What a lovely idea,” Ulla said. “We can find the daisy earrings while the maids pack Lannie’s clothes.”

But back in Constance’s suite, with the glittering contents of the jewelry box spread upon her dressing table, the daisy earrings were nowhere to be seen.

“Oh dear,” Constance murmured. “I was sure I saved them for you.” She began coughing again and Lannie plied her with tea.

“My dearest,” Albion declaimed as he strode into the room. “I heard you coughing. You need your tisane. I fetched it for you.” He held out a cup with the same steaming, oily, off-putting liquid she had been drinking at dinner. “The apothecary made it up fresh for you when Lannie and Ulla visited her this morning.”

Lannie smiled brightly at her father. “Mama was going to lend me her daisy earrings to wear when I marry, um, him.”

“Yes, darling,” Constance said. “You remember. You always remember.”

Albion smiled charmingly. “I certainly do remember. You wore those earrings when we met so long ago. As lovely as daisies are, you were still lovelier. You’re even more lovely today, more beautiful than a meadow full of daisies. I also remember how you cried when you lost your daisy earrings on a visit to, now where was it again? Oh, yes, we were visiting a friend of yours in Barsoom.”

Constance looked puzzled. “Are you sure?” She coughed and then began coughing harder.

Albion knelt by her side and held the cup of tisane near to her. “Yes, my love. I am sure. It saddens me because I know how you wanted to keep them for Yilanda. But they’re gone. Drink some of your tisane and think about another set. Any of your earrings would enhance our daughter’s prettiness.”

“Yes, mama,” Lannie urged. “Don’t distress yourself. I will wear anything you choose with pride. We’ll be leaving for Barsoom in the morning and I want you to rest for the journey.”

“Yes, my dearest love. We’ll chose another pair for Yilanda and just think! You’ll watch our daughter marry the daimyo of Orlov and be draped in pearls.”

Constance beamed up at her husband. “Oh Albion. You always take such good care of me.”

“Because I love you,” he murmured and kissed her gently on her brow.

She coughed and coughed again and her hands began to shake.

“Out of the room, girls, so Constance can rest,” Albion commanded. “I’ll have her choose in the morning before we set out on our journey to Barsoom.”

“Yes, daddy,” Lannie said obediently. Mama was getting that grayish pallor again and her hands were shaking hard enough she was having trouble holding her teacup. She did not want to marry Rastislav but how else would mama get proper medical attention? Zachary had been blunt, ensuring she couldn’t misunderstand him. No help was coming from that quarter. Her brother had been equally blunt: he couldn’t drag their corner of DelFino to profitability fast enough to save mama.

“Sure,” Ulla said. “Come on, Lannie. We’ll see your mama in the morning.”

But in the morning, Constance was worse.


	12. Why are you introducing a delicious woman like her to the sot?

Fen arrived in Barsoom with a few days to spare. Or so he thought.

He rode into what he thought was the city — wide fields surrounding the largest settlement he had yet seen rearing up from the steppes and wondered, is this it? I didn’t think I was that far south. The stars at night had long since become unfamiliar and were no longer useful as guides. Even so, he knew with good accuracy how many klicks he traveled each day.

He stared around, puzzled, while Coppertail snorted and shifted uneasily on the Pole-To-Pole road as the traffic flowed around them. He’d thought Barsoom would be much, much larger. Wouldn’t there be a sign?

Fortunately, he was close to a convenient, roadside café where a gathering of locals filled the outdoor tables. They watched him with open amusement. He rode over and asked for directions. The sniggering natives recognized a potentially dangerous rube when they saw one and helpfully pointed out that their tiny village, a mere dot on the steppes, was only the gateway to the farming regions surrounding the vast city of Barsoom.

Fen did his best not to gape at them, at more and taller buildings than he had ever seen before surrounding the cafe, said his thanks, and continued trotting southwards on the Pole-to-Pole road. He had to forcibly keep his jaws clamped shut so he didn’t ride along open-mouthed in shock. With each passing hour, the traffic got thicker on the road, the trains roaring by more frequent, the buildings taller and closer together, and the open land between them shrank until it disappeared altogether.

He had never seen so many people, from everywhere on Mars, yet he did not blend in. No man he saw enjoyed waist-length hair like he did, although, shockingly, many women did openly display their long tresses for anyone to ogle. His beard, scanty as it was, also set him apart, along with his few beads and his best woolen shirt, heavily embroidered with HighTower’s sigils. Mounted on Coppertail, he had a fine, elevated view which made it easier for others to stare at him, turn away and discreetly comment on his strangeness. Steppes Riders had a reputation further south, as Krangland’s daimyo had informed him with a wink. Perhaps this was what the daimyo meant. It also meant most people would be polite, unless they had something to prove to their own friends.

The climate had changed dramatically during his long journey to the equator. It was still mid-spring in the Ennaretee, but here, it was as hot as the hottest day in summer. As he sweated through his best shirt, he thought seriously about stripping it off to keep it clean, as he would have at home. He decided not to since no one else did so. Fen ended up compromising by braiding back his hair rather than leaving it loose to display his hard-earned beads. That also got him fewer sniggering looks.

The first trolley that roared by startled him and made Coppertail rear back in his nervousness. It did explain the additional rails embedded in the cobblestone street which hadn’t made any sense to him. They weren’t train tracks; they didn’t look right and who would put another train in the middle of a busy street hemmed in by buildings all around? The noise, the confusion, the odors were overwhelming and they got worse, klick by klick as he rode slowly southwards. The thickening crowds made it harder to move as swiftly as he would have liked and he was grateful he still had a few extra days.

He burned another full day reaching the actual city limits of Barsoom. While there was a sign, there was only one difference Fen could see between either side of the imaginary line it indicated. The multiple sets of train tracks had veered off, heading someplace else other than the Pole-to-Pole corridor. The train station, he supposed. He slept uneasily that night in a thicket in what he assumed was a public park.

He still had to locate the livery stable he had written to requesting board for him and Coppertail, the conclave building, and the moneylender who was waiting for the HighTower bank draft. Fortunately, according to the hand-drawn map he had been given, they were close together.

He just had to find them in the vastness of Barsoom.

Eventually he did, burning most of another day.

Once he discovered the correct district, he decided to start with the moneylender since that task was potentially the most damaging to HighTower and those offices closed first.

Handing over the bank draft was easy. It was also embarrassing since the banker was openly surprised that his father had paid in full and on time.

“No fines then?” Fen asked warily.

“No, you made it on time. Perhaps a new loan for more improvements?” the banker asked cheerfully. “Low interest rates just for you.” He already had a blank contract on his desk, waiting to be filled in with convenient, easy payment terms. The wide, happy smile never reached his eyes.

“No. And I’ll want a receipt as proof I paid.”

* * *

Casting his father’s vote in the zemstvo was easy too. A helpful clerk (used to dealing with aristocratic, ignorant rubes from the sticks) told him how to verify his identity, where to go, and how to fill out the forms when he got there. She also told Fen about the minor conclave sessions starting as soon as the regional zemstvos were complete. As a member of the Four Hundred, Fen had the right to sit in the gallery and watch the proceedings if he chose. He couldn’t vote on legislation in the minor conclave since he did not carry written authorization from his daimyo, but he could watch and learn.

“I’ll do that! It sounds fascinating, yeah? Fen said.

“If you say so. Most people think it’s like watching paint dry,” the clerk replied.

“I’ll attend anyway.”

“Try not to snore. The sergeants-at-arms don’t like it and they’ll throw you out if they catch you. They aren’t gentle either.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

The livery stable was the challenge. They admitted receiving his request for room and board for himself and Coppertail. They demanded more coin to pay for it, forcing him to choose between emptying his pockets of the booty he had earned from the bandits or sleeping in the stall with Coppertail.

Fen didn’t have to think hard about his decision. Every single thing he had seen since arriving in Barsoom cost more than he had thought it would. Any coin he didn’t spend would come home to HighTower, where it would do far more good than it would enriching the residents of Barsoom more than they already were.

“I’ll stay with my horse.” He would eat mil-rats too. It was embarrassing, they tasted like despair, and functioned as a chewing exercise but pride cost too much money.

“Remember to pick the straw from your hair and clothes when you leave the stables,” the dowdy woman behind the counter said. She eyed him carefully from his pulled-back hair shot through with beads to his scuffed leather boots, then ran her eyes approvingly over Coppertail, tied up nearby. “Minor conclave’s going to start its sessions in a few days. That’s why we’re full up. I’m shorthanded so I’ll give you a discount if you clean your own stall.”

Fen thought quickly. “Can Coppertail and I board longer if I clean other stalls? Then I can stay for the minor conclave and watch the proceedings.”

The livery stable woman gave him a look. “Most people think that’s like watching paint dry.”

“Yes, ma’am, so I was told but I don’t know when I’ll ever get back to Barsoom and get another chance like this.”

“Fifteen stalls a day, plus your own, and anything else I need done around the stables. No sleeping in the loft because you’re not paying for it, no meals but water’s free, and if I catch you goofing off, you and your horse are out on the street. I’m Mrs. Cardozo, by the way.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cardozo. I can do all that. Except the goofing off part, I mean.”

“Sign here, please.”

* * *

Mama did not come down for breakfast. Albion informed Lannie, Ulla, Charlton, and Walter that she was sicker than ever.

“Your dear mama spent much of the night vomiting.” He posed, gazing off into the middle distance looking distraught, worn-out, and the very image of a concerned husband. He snapped his eyes back to his daughter. “Yilanda, your marrying the daimyo of Orlov will ensure your mama finally gets the medical care she needs and deserves.”

“I have to see her,” Lannie said. “I won’t leave without seeing mama.” Her mind raced. She had to think of something and not drift aimlessly anymore and let other people decide what happened to her. Ulla wouldn’t. If she could channel Ulla, other people might stop dismissing her as a lightweight.

“That may not be advisable,” Albion said. “Your mama is not at her best.”

“Daddy,” Lannie said firmly, her eyes gone wide. “If mama is this ill, she may not survive until I marry, ugh, _him_ , and he sends you the money to pay for mama’s care and you get mama to the doctors in Barsoom.”

“Lannie’s right,” Charlton said. “I want to see mama too.” He radiated hostility towards their father.

“Thank you, Charlton,” Lannie made herself say. Her brother wasn’t sacrificing himself to some lecherous geezer. She’d spent the night agonizing over what she would do if Walter’s plan didn’t work. Charlton only had to marry the Orlov harpy and if she didn’t marry Rastislav, then he wouldn’t marry the Orlov harpy, lucky girl. But then mama was sure to die.

“When did you get in?” Lannie asked, looking for something else to think about. Her brother was bleary-eyed, unshaven, and had thrown on the nearest shirt as evidenced by yesterday’s wrinkles and stains.

“Late,” Charlton answered. He yawned. “I got up early to pack.”

“That must be why you, unlike Walter, didn’t bother shaving or dressing properly,” Albion said snidely.

“Don’t drag me into this,” Walter said. “You could have shared _your_ valet for a change.” He was chipper, properly dressed, shaven, and his own valet had already packed for the trip to Barsoom, the baggage waiting to be stowed in the wagons along with Lannie and Ulla’s baggage.

Charlton stood up slowly, his face dark with stubble and fury. He put his fists down on the table and leaned over it, casting a shadow across his father.

“Dad. If mama dies, it will be because of your mismanagement and incompetence. If mama dies, I will throw you out and you can try your luck as a professional dinner guest in Barsoom. You will never see another coin from DelFino and ancestral home or not, you will never be allowed back here.”

Albion reared back; sudden, shocked fear flickering in his eyes.

“You cannot do that. I am your _father_.”

“I can, _dad_ , and I will. What’s more, Zachery will back me up. I spoke with the village headman last night. Remember him? He had plenty to tell me about your management.”

“I’m sure your mama will recover,” Albion murmured and transferred his attention to the plate of fried yams in front of him. His normally glowing emerald complexion had gone ashy and his hands were shaking.

“She’d better,” Charlton snarled. “Lannie, Walter, Ulla. As soon as we’re done eating, we’ll visit mama together. Then, when _we_ are satisfied she’s doing better, we’ll leave for Barsoom.”

Lannie stared at her brother, speechless. It was almost like Charlton was channeling Zachery.

Ulla said, “an excellent plan, Charlton. Don’t you agree, Walter?”

Walter nodded and turned his attention to his own breakfast, rather than regaling the company with another story of his newest addition to his birdwatching life-list as he had been planning.

Charlton refused to say another word during breakfast and no one else said much of anything. Lannie spent her time watching their father carefully, while wondering what the village headman had told her brother.

* * *

Upstairs, Charlton took the lead. He rapped sharply at Constance’s bedchamber door, and was admitted by her maid.

Lannie was relieved to see their mama sitting upright in bed, her color somewhat better. Despite the open windows letting in the morning breeze, the odor of vomit lingered as did the unpleasant scent of her newest batch of tisane.

“Charlton,” Constance said. “Is that you?” She looked confused again, as though she wasn’t quite sure who she was talking to.

“Yes, mama, it is,” he replied gently. “I came to see you before Lannie and I left for Barsoom.” He crossed the room, sat down beside her, and took one of her limp hands in his own.

“You’re going to Barsoom?”

“Yes, mama,” Lannie replied for both of them as she sat down at Constance’s other side. “You remember, Ulla and I were looking at your jewelry last night to select a pair of earrings for my, um, upcoming wedding.”

Constance brightened. “That’s right. I want you to wear my daisy earrings.”

“We couldn’t find them, mama,” Lannie said. “Remember? Daddy said you lost them in Barsoom.”

“I did?”

“Yes, mama.”

“Oh.” Constance’s eyes darted about, not quite tracking. “Is that Ulla?”

“Yes, it is, auntie Constance,” Ulla replied promptly. “I thought perhaps you might like to let Lannie borrow those pretty opals.”

“Oh, yes they are pretty,” Constance said dreamily. “I like opals.”

“Mama, I’ll be speaking with your maid and Cook to be sure you’re taken care of while we’re in Barsoom,” Charlton said, pronouncing his words carefully. “I’ll have someone from the village stop by every day to check on you while we’re gone.”

“You’ll all be gone?” Constance asked.

“Yes, mama,” Lannie said. “I’ll be marrying, ugh, him, and Charlton will marry as well. Daddy’s coming with us.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Constance said. “Bring me my jewelry box and I’ll get those opals for you to wear.” She stopped and looked bewildered. “I don’t remember losing my daisy earrings.”

“I know and thank you, mama, for choosing the opals,” Lannie said. She took the jewelry box from Ulla and opened it for her mother. As Constance began sorting through her earrings with sighs of recognition, Lannie looked up at her brother’s face. Charlton looked worried as he watched their mother.

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Lannie mouthed.

He nodded.

When they finished, Walter left first to supervise the loading of the wagons and the final arrangements for the servants traveling with them. Ulla held Charlton and Lannie back in the hallway, well away from Constance’s closed bedchamber door.

“Your mother is worse,” she said flatly. “This vagueness isn’t normal.”

“You think we don’t know that?” Charlton growled, speaking for him and his sister.

Ulla put her left hand to her mouth and began gnawing at her littlest fingernail. She saw their startled looks and yanked her hand from her mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking or what you know or what I’m thinking anymore,” she said. “I do know I want to talk to your mama’s maid and” — she shuddered — “Cook and,” — she grimaced — “that worthless housekeeper and useless butler about her care. To make sure your mama eats properly and gets taken care of while we’re gone.”

“We should stop at the apothecary in the village and speak with Mistress Vaughn,” Lannie said, pleased to have thought of something Ulla had not.

“Yeah,” Ulla said and began gnawing on her fingernail again. “Her too.”

* * *

Finally, they were on their way, Ulla arriving last. She was breathing hard and her face tense as she climbed into the open carriage, the same one that had taken Zachary on his inspection tour so many weeks ago. It was clean, inside and out, the springs and axles had been oiled, and the wheels rebuilt making for a much smoother ride.

“While you were busy with mama’s maid, I spoke to Cook,” Lannie said promptly.

“So did I.”

“You couldn’t have,” Walter said dryly. “You don’t have a cleaver stuck through your head.” He was mounted on his white gelding, the one he had arrived on so many weeks before.

“I had auntie Constance’s maid act as a go-between,” Ulla shot back. “I did what I could.”

“Everything is prepared. Any final instructions, Miss Ulla?” the burly servant asked. He was one of the pair who had arrived with Ulla and Walter so many weeks ago, sent by the daimyo to demonstrate who was in charge.

“No, Harry. Thank you.”

The servant bowed and strode towards the stables. Lannie watched him go and wondered what he would do while they were gone in Barsoom. Perhaps he was returning home, to Ulla’s corner of Barsoom.

Then she stopped wondering when Albion strode up to the open carriage, beaming at everyone he passed. “I checked again on Constance. Your mama will be fine. And I’ll get to ride with two delightful and beautiful young ladies.”

“How nice, Daddy,” Lannie mumbled and looked away, back to the manor house. She had hoped her mother would be waving from her window but there was no sign of her. Did her father even begin to understand or care about the sacrifice she was making? And worse, if she did manage to escape marrying the daimyo of Orlov, what would happen to mama?

“What fun,” Ulla said and made a disgusted face at Albion. “Wish I hadn’t loss the toss over the riding horses with Charlton.” She looked longingly at her own white mare carrying Charlton instead of her.

She smiled suddenly. “Albion, you’ll have to sit with your back to the coachman. There’s no room on this side with me and Lannie.”

Albion thought about the long, jolting ride facing backwards.

“I’m sure I can squeeze in between the two of you.”

“No,” the girls chorused and glared at him, united in their distaste for Albion DelFino.

“But,” Albion protested.

“Dad,” Charlton said coldly from his lofty position atop Ulla’s white mare. “You can run along behind the carriage with the dogs if you prefer. Or you could stay home with mama and hope I return with all that coin the daimyo of Orlov promised you in exchange for this fiasco to pay mama’s medical bills and your gambling debts.”

He grinned suddenly, a baring of teeth like a wolf. “Just think. I could pay for the finest care at the Great Hospital in Barsoom for mama and spend every penny. Or, if she dies while we’re away, I’ll rethatch every cottage in the village with that money and if there’s any left over, the village headman has a list of needs. Make a choice, dad.”

“I’ll sit facing my lovely daughter and my lovely niece,” Albion replied smartly. “I cannot bear to miss the once in a lifetime opportunity of giving away my only daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“Yay,” Lannie said and twisted in her seat again to stare over the sidewall of the carriage at the manor house and her mother’s empty window. “That man will rape me and beat me to death.”

“Albion, you just want your debts paid so you can gamble again,” Ulla said and twisted in her seat to stare out the other side.

“Happy families,” Walter chirped.

“Yeah,” Charlton said and laughed harshly. “Happy families. Let’s go and get this over with.”

* * *

Damn him, Iolanthe thought. The sot could have allowed a single day in Nourz for my visit to the acupuncturist. We have a private train to get from Orlov castle to the free-city. It’s not like we had to keep to someone else’s schedule until after our arrival at the train station in Nourz.

She stretched her cramped leg in the first-class compartment she was sharing with Dimitri, forcing her leg through the motions the acupuncturist and auntie Bettina insisted she do every day.

“Hurting again, Iolanthe?” Dimitri asked with concern.

“Yes, I am.” She wondered if it was worth having Dimitri fetch Nelly. Her new maid was not nearly as skilled or attentive as Olga had been but she was the only available help. She couldn’t ask her brother to perform so intimate a service as massaging her leg from hip to toes. On the other hand, she had a very good idea how Nelly was currently occupied and she didn’t want anyone to suffer by interrupting an intimate moment between her new maid and the sot, cavorting in his private railway car. Thank all the Gods and the Orlov ancestors that the daimyo refused to share his private car with anyone else. They’d have to witness his activities while pretending ignorance.

“I can find that Nelly,” Dimitri said with a frown. “She should be here, with you.”

“The sot wanted her. He claimed he had a task his valet couldn’t do.”

Dimitri flushed with embarrassment. “Oh. Right. I’ll stay here.” He stared out the window at the passing scenery. “Oh! I know. I’ll walk you to the observation car and back. A distraction might help and you can stretch your legs.”

Iolanthe sat back against the plush upholstery, stunned. She knew the train had an observation car. She’d wanted to visit it and yet she hadn’t stirred from their first-class compartment once they’d been escorted into it. Why hadn’t she thought of it when she’d had an entire daydream about shoving the sot over its railings to his death? She cast an eye at her brother. It would probably be best to not tell him of her bloodthirsty notions. He’d be sure to disapprove.

He was staring at her. She had to say something. He’d never believe she didn’t know about the amenities of first-class rail travel from her extensive reading.

“Oh, Iolanthe,” Dimitri said with sudden understanding. “Were you afraid someone would say something to you about your cane or your hand?”

She looked down at her left hand, its scars but not its claw-like twist concealed behind sleek kidskin gloves. The backs were lavishly embroidered with seed pearls forming the Orlov sigil. “Yes,” she replied and knew that it was true. “I was.”

“No one will say anything and if they do, they’ll have to say it to me.”

“You are the best brother,” Iolanthe said joyously. “Please, let’s walk to the observation car.”

Dimitri helped her to her feet, she added her sheer veil, and they set off through the compartment door and into the narrow, swaying corridor. She stared out the windows lining the corridor, the different side of the train showing a different view of the majestic Equator Road running from Easternmost to Barsoom, and wondered if Charlton DelFino would be kind enough to escort her in public where everyone could see her limp, her cane, her twisted hand.

“We’ll have to go through the dining car. Would you like some tea and a snack while we’re there?” Dimitri asked.

“Oh, yes,” Iolanthe breathed. She’d be out in public. She’d be seen. She’d be real and not just a treasured doll hidden inside a glass cabinet. Even when living in Nourz where she had enjoyed some measure of freedom, she had not often ventured outside the finishing school’s walled gardens.

“This is your first time on a regular train?” Dimitri asked.

She giggled. “You know it is, silly. I always used our private train when I went to Nourz and I’ve never been anywhere else.”

“I was trying to make conversation,” her brother replied. “Anyways, regular trains have things in common with our private train.”

“They run on tracks, hauled along by nuclear engines,” Iolanthe replied. “Otherwise, I’d have to say not much. Look at all these compartments this car has been divided up into. Our train cars are one big space. Everything is clean and perfect. This car has seen a lot of use. The passageway carpet needs to be replaced and the brass isn’t as polished as our train’s brass would be.”

“Quite true,” Dimitri admitted. “Remember that Orlov’s train doesn’t make endless roundtrips with never a break for maintenance. Excuse us, miss.”

A compartment door opened into the passageway and a handsome, buxom older woman stepped out. Like many of the other female passengers, she was unveiled; her face and hair exposed for all the world to see while her garments let the world see even more. She glanced at Iolanthe, in her pale pink gossamer veils embroidered all over with seed pearls forming tiny Orlov sigils, and let her eyes linger on Dimitri, tall and handsome with the Orlov sigil worked in pearls adorning his broad chest.

“Quite all right,” the woman purred as she openly enjoyed her eyeful.

Iolanthe wanted to sigh. She’d become invisible again but at least this time she knew the reason. She was always invisible to other women when Dimitri was present, at least until the woman realized she was his sister. Once that happened, she was very visible indeed as the woman sought reasons to linger in her brother’s aura by chatting to her.

They introduced themselves and the other reason for becoming visible appeared. The woman’s eyes widened when she realized she was speaking to two members of the famous Orlov family and that their garments were casually strewn with tiny pearls as though the cost was inconsequential. She wouldn’t know the pearls were false. Every member of Orlov had an extensive collection of pearl jewelry and had pearls sewn to their garments but all of them were fake. They were the finest false pearls on Mars, undetectable to anyone but a jeweler familiar with real pearls. The extensive use of false pearls fed the legend of the fabulous Pearls of Orlov and no jeweler on Mars was as skilled at making faux pearls as Orlov’s own jeweler was. He had plenty of practice, invisibly replacing sold true pearls.

The woman was eager to chat, gracefully ignoring Iolanthe’s cane after a single sideways glance at it. Whenever she could, she raked her eyes over Dimitri’s body as though measuring his exact size and working out how his muscle would feel under her hands. As they chatted, Iolanthe saw a solution to her current problem.

“Miss Pondicherry? We are traveling with the daimyo himself.”

“Oooh. The private railcar at the front of the train? And it’s Mrs. Pondicherry,” the woman purred. “I’m traveling without my husband and I do like meeting new people to pass the time. Rail travel can be so dull without enjoyable and friendly company.” She flicked her eyes at Dimitri again, lingering at his groin.

“Yes, ma’am,” Iolanthe replied. She gave Dimitri a discreet poke to ensure he kept his mouth shut and didn’t take Mrs. Pondicherry up on her unspoken yet blatant offer. “My lord Rastislav himself is accompanying my brother and me. I’m sure the daimyo would enjoy meeting a lovely, well-cultured woman like yourself.”

The sot most certainly would; a lushly figured, openly interested woman with flexible morals like Mrs. Pondicherry was like catnip to him. He wouldn’t care about her marital status as long as she was willing and eager and it looked like, based on the glow in her eyes, she was. Maybe for pearls, for connections, for social status, or because she was sexually adventurous and enjoyed flings with the aristocrats of the Four Hundred. Did the reason matter? It did not, if the sot was diverted by a liaison with Mrs. Pondicherry and left Nelly free to attend to Iolanthe.

“We’re on our way to the observation car,” Dimitri said. “Would you like to join us?”

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Pondicherry breathed in deeply, her impressive bosom becoming more impressive. The power-diving neckline of her dress would have been considered risqué in a ballroom and amply displayed her charms. She didn’t have a true emerald complexion, her skin tending towards pine, but it was perfect in its evenness.

“How wonderful,” Iolanthe said firmly. “I will make sure to introduce you to our dear daimyo at my earliest opportunity.”

“I would be so grateful for the pleasure,” Mrs. Pondicherry said with a charming smile and fluttering eyelashes. “I will enjoy every moment with such a distinguished gentleman.”

She turned and led the way down the passageway, swaying her hips more than the train’s own movement required. The fringe trim on her gown accentuated every seductive step.

Dimitri swallowed, blinked, stared, and whispered, “why are you introducing a delicious woman like her to the sot?”

“So I can get Nelly back,” Iolanthe hissed. “If Mrs. Pondicherry is willing, and she certainly acts like it, he won’t hesitate. That is, if she doesn’t pounce on him first. If we’re lucky, she’ll keep the sot busy until we reach Barsoom!”

“Oh, right, but even so,” he said reluctantly as he took her arm and they followed Mrs. Pondicherry down the passageway.

“I know how the girls ogle you, including the railway staff,” Iolanthe interrupted him. “You’ll enjoy all the company you want.”

Dimitri grinned and tore his eyes away from Mrs. Pondicherry’s delectable rear end. “True. You won’t mind if I disappear from time to time?”

“No. Have fun, but not with Mrs. Pondicherry. Leave her to the sot. Just remember to knock when you return to the compartment.”

Dimitri chuckled and winked. “Because you’ll be enjoying yourself?”

Iolanthe groaned. “No, silly. As if that would ever happen. Nelly might be massaging my leg or helping me dress and that would be embarrassing all around.”

Dimitri stopped walking, forcing Iolanthe to stop as well; his face suddenly serious. “Don’t discount yourself, Iolanthe, and other people won’t. I think Charlton will like you.”

She sniffed, reminded again of her plainness compared to a ripe peach like Mrs. Pondicherry. Based on those swinging hips, Mrs. Pondicherry was probably also very agile and flexible, something else she would never be. “We’ll see.”

* * *

The journey to the closest DelFino railway took hours and then hours more to join with a regular train for the run to Barsoom. Lannie never found a private moment to speak with Charlton; their father dogged their footsteps as though preventing them from abandoning him to his fate. He spun stories about the pleasures of Barsoom, the fabulous parties he and their mother had attended in the past and would again thanks to the sacrifices their children were making, and grand plans for the future.

Lannie also didn’t find a private moment to speak with Walter about his plan for her escape. She had to flee Rastislav’s lecherous grasp and she had to do it with the Pearls of Orlov, or at least enough of the Pearls to pay for her mother’s care. But Walter remained mum on the subject, until she cornered him in the observation car.

“Quick! Charlton and Ulla are right behind me and daddy’s right behind them,” Lannie hissed. “How are you going to get me out of this fiasco? I’m counting on you and you won’t tell me _anything_!”

“Quit worrying, Lannie,” Walter replied. “It’s all taken care of.”

“That is not helpful! And you still haven’t told me how you’re going to keep Orlov from tracking me to the ends of Mars and murdering me for swiping a few Pearls.”

Walter caught her waving hands in his, mainly to keep them away from his throat. “Lannie, trust me.” He gazed deep in her eyes with his own spectacularly blue ones. “I’m not like Charlton or your father. You can count on me.” He smiled reassuringly at her.

Lannie felt her heart leap. He was so handsome, so manly, the image of a prince. He was also a cousin, although a distant one. Why couldn’t she marry someone like Walter instead of some lecherous, vicious old geezer? She could wait thirty years to become the daimyah while her husband clawed his way to the top and if he didn’t make it, she didn’t care. She wasn’t ambitious enough to covet the position. As aggravating as running a manor house was, overseeing an entire demesne had to be far more work.

“Are you sure?” She couldn’t stand how pathetic she sounded. Ulla — damn her black, capable heart — never sounded pathetic when talking to anyone.

“Absolutely.”

Then Walter leaned closer and very gently brushed his own lips across hers.

“Trust me,” he breathed, his voice warm against her cheeks.

Lannie thought her heart would burst out of her chest. It pounded like a parade drum. Why couldn’t she have someone like Walter? Someone she could trust. Someone who cared about her. Someone young and handsome she liked, instead of someone chosen for her.

“I’ll try,” she whispered. “But I’m scared. What if your plan doesn’t work? I’ll be trapped in Orlov with a monster.”

“You won’t be.” He leaned in closer for another sweet stolen kiss. Lannie could feel herself wanting to fall into his strong arms.

“Won’t be what?” Ulla’s voice intruded, a screech of reality.

Lannie and Walter leaped apart.

“Yeah,” Charlton snarled, rough with menace. “My little sister won’t be what? Tell me, Walter. Right now.”

Lannie recovered first and spun around. “Walter is telling me that I won’t be raped and beaten to a bloody pulp by that awful geezer daimyo of Orlov! He cares about me and my safety, unlike other members of the DelFino family I could name,” she snapped, eyes blazing.

“It’s not that simple, sissy,” Charlton said. “Walter. We need to talk.”

“No, you two don’t,” Lannie hissed. “Walter is helping me because you don’t care! I feel so sorry for that unlucky Orlov harpy.”

“Quit putting on a show for the rest of the observation car,” Ulla said firmly. “We are going to sit and watch the scenery until everyone calms down.” She stared everyone down, pinning Walter, Lannie, and Charlton with her hard glare until they each sank onto the bench; Walter leading the way and staying well away from Charlton.

“That’s better,” Ulla pronounced and sat down next to Charlton. “We’re going to change the subject, starting by Charlton telling us if this Orlov harpy has a name. It’s disrespectful to refer to anyone as a harpy.”

Charlton stood back up and loomed over Ulla. “You are a harpy, Ulla. The Orlov harpy cannot possibly be as bossy, annoying, and controlling as you.”

Ulla flinched back as though she had been slapped. “I work very hard to keep everything going and make sure everything gets done. It’s my duty,” she said in a thin, tight voice.

“Yes, you do work hard, and you manage to drive everyone crazy while you do your duty,” Charlton replied.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be putting on a show for rest of the observation deck passengers?” Lannie said and smirked. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“Yeah,” Walter said. “I’ve got to agree with Lannie.”

“Growing a spine, Walter?” Charlton asked. “It’s nice to see you aren’t hiding behind my sister.”

“That’s enough,” Ulla shrieked, leaping to her own feet and drawing the attention of everyone else seated in the observation car. “I know you two hate each other but wait until we get to the townhouse in Barsoom to fight. One of you will end up over the railing and dead on the ground and then where will we be?”

“Minus a major annoyance?” Lannie said.

“Minus a smarmy, lying prig?” Charlton said, glaring at Walter.

“Minus a worthless DelFino black sheep?” Walter retorted, glaring back at Charlton.

“That would be Albion on all counts, you idiots, and he’s smart enough to avoid this sort of foolishness,” Ulla snapped. “Sit down and shut up and admire the scenery or I’ll call the conductor and then I’ll inform Zachery the second we arrive.”

They sat, silent and seething, but not for long.

“Ah! My children and my dear niece and nephew enjoying the glories of rail travel,” Albion said, finally catching up with them. “Forgive me for dawdling but I met the most charming passenger, a member of the Sakamoto family. You remember them, Lannie.”

As one, Walter, Lannie, Charlton, and Ulla’s heads swiveled over towards Albion posing nobly by the railing and then swiveled back in unison to stare out at the passing scenery.

“Well?” Albion demanded, hands on hips and turned at what he hoped was just the right angle to show off his still excellent figure. Sadly, there was no mirror to ensure his perfection. He did have an audience, because the other passengers were watching avidly. Even more sadly, none of the other passengers appeared to be important, wealthy, cultured people worth chatting up. But the possibility always existed, meaning he might have to adlib rather than use his prepared speech if Lannie, Charlton, Walter, and Ulla refused to be properly respectful.

“I sure do, daddy,” Lannie replied, staring straight ahead towards the road filled with foot traffic all going somewhere they chose. “Shondra married into that family and they were abusive and vicious to her. Just like the Orlov family will be to me.”

“Get lost, dad,” Charlton said, keeping his eyes on the far, empty horizon and wishing he could disappear where no one knew him or depended on his abilities for their own survival. “Chat up the Sakamoto woman so you can practice your professional dinner guest skills. You may need them.”

“Much as it pains me to say this,” Walter said, watching a white-browed hawk soar high overhead on the thermals as it hunted for something delicious to rip apart and devour. “I have to agree with Charlton.”

“Remember you are married when you chat up that unlucky woman,” Ulla said, keeping her left hand firmly by her side so she didn’t gnaw her littlest fingernail again, giving it time to heal. She worked so hard and no one gave a damn and it hurt. “Because if you don’t, I’ll be sure to mention it to her myself.”

Adlibbing it was. “My dear family,” Albion replied smoothly. “How could I deny you your hearts’ desires. I’ll meet you for dinner in the dining car. We have reservations for six.”


	13. Remember the purpose of a harpy before you do something even more venal and stupid than this.

“He’s gone,” Ulla said. She pressed her left hand more firmly against her side. With her littlest fingernail bitten to the quick, she was afraid she’d start working on the next fingernail. What had started out as a necessary but easy assignment got more painful and confusing every day.

“Charlton?” Walter said. “I don’t like you, but your father is worse. You’ll have to get rid of him if you expect to make a go of your corner of DelFino.”

“Walter?” Charlton said. “I don’t like you either but I agree. Don’t let your father, the daimyo, give my father, the wastrel, a penny ever again.”

“That won’t happen.”

“If coin is available for our corner of DelFino, work with the village headman.”

“Not you?” Walter sneered.

“That’s up to the daimyo,” Charlton replied sullenly. “He only knows what you tell him about me.” He looked resigned.

“Don’t any of you care that I have to marry that vicious, abusive geezer daimyo of Orlov?” Lannie demanded.

“I’m sure something will happen,” Walter said.

“We can’t know the future,” Ulla said. “Besides, you gave your word and DelFinos don’t go back on their word.”

“Quit worrying. Mama needs this,” Charlton said. He glanced sideways at Lannie sitting next to him, discreetly took her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly.

Lannie yanked her hand away from her brother’s. “I don’t believe for one minute mama wants me to marry someone who will rape me and beat me to death.”

Charlton stared straight ahead at the horizon and said bitterly, “Try and think about someone besides yourself, sissy. I do it every day.” He paused. “The Orlov harpy does have a name.”

“Now you want to talk about this?” Lannie sniped. “Instead of my future, painful, awful death?”

“I’d like to know,” Ulla said. “Try and think, Lannie. This is your future sister-in-law and you should know something about her.”

“What do I care? I’ll be dead!” Lannie wailed.

“It’s Iolanthe,” Charlton said as though his sister hadn’t said one word.

“That’s pretty,” Ulla said. She waited for someone else to say something, heard nothing, gritted her teeth and dutifully limped the conversation forward. “Do you know anything about her?”

Charlton’s face hardened. “Dad tells me what the daimyo of Orlov told him. Iolanthe’s name is the only thing pretty about her. She’s ugly, she’s stupid, she’s crippled. That’s why a princess of Orlov has to marry a worthless black sheep like me. She can’t do any better, even if she came with the Pearls of Orlov as a dowry.”

Walter guffawed suddenly and heartily. “I had wondered.”

He grinned at the white-browed hawk, still riding the thermals and easily keeping pace with the train. “My parents made me a much better match.” As he spoke, the hawk spotted its prey and power-dived downwards into an explosion of bright green feathers, possibly a parakeet. This event went into his life-list of observed kills, something he enjoyed compiling very much.

“I’m to be introduced to Naomi Khan. She’s supposed to be the most beautiful girl in her quad. I saw her picture and she is gorgeous. Rich and well-connected too.”

“How lucky for you,” Charlton said.

“Never heard of her,” Lannie said.

“I have,” Ulla said. A tiny smile darted across her face. “Walter, the two of you were made for each other.”

“So that’s the Orlov harpy,” Charlton said. “My penniless bride-to-be. Iolanthe.”

“Charlton,” Lannie said. “Iolanthe may be ugly, stupid, and crippled, but she won’t rape you or beat you to death.”

“Probably not,” her brother replied. He didn’t sound enthusiastic.

Perhaps her brother was making a sacrifice although not nearly as large as hers was going to be. “If I don’t marry the daimyo of Orlov, you won’t have to marry Iolanthe,” Lannie said carefully.

“Probably so,” her brother replied. “But then mama will die for sure.”

“Daddy lies,” Lannie added after another long pause.

“Yes, he does, sissy. But that doesn’t answer the question as to why Iolanthe, a daughter of Orlov, can’t marry as she chooses any more than we can.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Ulla and stared out at the road full of traffic; all those travelers making their own choices as they saw fit.

* * *

It took the rest of the day to maneuver him into position, but Iolanthe finally, over dinner in the dining car, successfully introduced Mrs. Pondicherry to the daimyo of Orlov. Rastislav was feeling out of sorts, looking for a distraction, and Mrs. Pondicherry, exposed in an even lower neckline than she had worn earlier, was just the distraction he wanted.

‘This is guaranteed to work,’ Iolanthe thought gleefully. She settled herself comfortably and watched in admiration as a professional adventuress swung into action.

Mrs. Pondicherry cooed over the sot, poured his wine for him, turned eating into suggestive theater, and made the most outrageous innuendos about her hobbies. Rastislav, in turn, ate it up to the point that Iolanthe was unsure they’d remain at the table long enough to enjoy dessert. Surprisingly they did, but only because it let Mrs. Pondicherry demonstrate how she ate bananas flambé. For her part, Iolanthe had to repeatedly kick Dimitri under the table with her good foot to keep him focused on their own conversation and stay out of the way.

Mrs. Pondicherry put on such a show that not only did the surrounding diners watch, so did the waiters and they had seen everything while working the railways from Easternmost to Westernmost. Once she’d devoured her bananas flambé (Iolanthe knew she’d never look at a banana again without blushing) Mrs. Pondicherry purred to Rastislav about a stroll after dinner and then a nice lie down and did he wish to join her?

He did and they strolled off, arm in arm, forward towards the private Orlov railcar.

Iolanthe watched them go, while doing her best not to scream with joy and distract the sot from his pleasures. The journey to Barsoom would last a few days. She and Dimitri might not see the sot until they disembarked in Barsoom and maybe not afterwards, if Mrs. Pondicherry got off the train in Barsoom with them. He would invite her to the Orlov townhouse, ancestors save them, if she pleased him enough in the private railcar. Hmm. That could be a problem.

“What a waste,” Dimitri murmured over his guava tarte, while his eyes remained fixed on Mrs. Pondicherry’s mesmerizing rear end until it disappeared behind the connecting door between cars. “She could be giving me the ride of my life.”

“Dimitri!” Iolanthe hissed. “I am sitting right here.”

He winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“No doubt. That entire dinner was scandalous,” she replied. “But worth it if I get Nelly back for the rest of the trip.”

“I think you will,” Dimitri said, still distracted by the pulse-pounding call of flesh. “A mere housemaid can’t compete with the likes of Mrs. Pondicherry. Gleesh. I thought for sure she was going to fall out of that gown. And did you see the back of her dress? You can see bare skin almost to her waist!”

“I am aware. You, the sot, the men at the surrounding tables, and the waiters all had your tongues hanging out.”

“I did not.”

“You did too. I saw you and so did she.” Iolanthe waved her dessert spoon imperiously at her brother. “Do not interfere with the sot and that woman. She might come to her senses and realize you are much handsomer and much younger than the sot.”

Dimitri grinned and laughed, attracting the attention of more than one young lady and not so young lady in the dining car. “So I am, but the sot has one very important attribute that I don’t. He’s the daimyo.”

“True.” Iolanthe sank her dessert spoon into her melon sherbet. It was excellent; cool, tangy, and unlike bananas flambé, it could not be eaten lewdly. “I’m hoping Mrs. Pondicherry knows which side her bread is buttered on and she’ll stick with the sot until she can’t, cadging for fake pearls and status. Maybe even while we’re in Barsoom.” And maybe, all by herself, Mrs. Pondicherry would provoke a heart attack. It could happen and if there was a woman capable of such a feat, it would be Mrs. Pondicherry.

Dimitri took a bite of his guava tarte, his eyes still glazed over. “Buttered is the right word. Gleesh.”

Iolanthe rolled her eyes to disguise the surge of envy. No man, including Charlton DelFino, would ever look at her like they all stared at Mrs. Pondicherry.

* * *

Barsoom was immense.

Each day, Fen thought he had seen everything there was to see and each day, he was proved wrong. He continually got lost and had to rely on the kindness of strangers to set him right. The lay of the land defeated him, the density of thousands of identical six-story red sandstone buildings on identical streets defeated him, the mobs and mobs of people defeated him, and the signs were little help. It took a full day for him to realize, overwhelmed as he was, that each of the buildings he passed by had been trimmed out differently at the cornices, the window frames, and the doorways.

Once he spotted those architectural details, he started seeing how neighborhoods of what he thought were identical buildings had subtle and unique changes. An entire block of buildings would be made of one shade of red sandstone, while the surrounding blocks would be a darker shade. One block would consist only of housing with tiny shops on the ground floor. Another block consisted of much larger shops, larger by far than the general store back in Robinsin, with apartments on the top floors. He gradually began to recognize the underlying structure of boulevards, neighborhoods, shopping districts, manufacturing quarters, and parks and as he did, he got lost less often. It was like always knowing where he was on HighTower and the endless steppes. The lay of the land varied, but subtly, and only a keen and careful eye could see and remember the landmarks.

Barsoom was the same.

He quickly discovered that it was well-worth always going armed, after his first encounter with a mugger. He didn’t fret over leaving the mugger broken and bleeding in an alley; his assailant had earned it. The only fear was what if the Barsoom authorities came looking for him? But they didn’t, and after a day or two, Fen relaxed.

But because of his encounter with a pickpocket, he didn’t relax fully as he would have back home. That boy got a richly deserved beating and afterwards, Fen made sure he always knew who was standing near him. He wouldn’t have thrashed the boy except letting him go the first time with a stern warning meant the pickpocket thought he wasn’t serious and so came back to try his luck a second time. That pickpocket didn’t come back for thirds.

After both encounters, Fen had to wonder what his father or other relatives would have said about his responses. He had taken a few seconds to think, but then he had acted. Was he the same person he had been back home? Or had he always acted as needful but because he thought about what to do first, his relatives assumed he stayed frozen in place? He was slowly coming to the conclusion that his family didn’t see him; they saw their image of him. In Barsoom, everyone he encountered saw him as he was.

Barsoom was unlike home in other ways.

It was disconcerting to have women, young and old, openly proposition him and then expect him to _pay_ for their company. The rationale behind their offers took some time to work out and it was embarrassing to be shown up as a rube from the sticks. Robinsin was nothing like this.

There were beggars, pushy to the point of rudeness. He couldn’t understand why anyone needed to beg when mil-rats were available free and he saw plenty of help-wanted signs. Robinsin had no beggars and he hadn’t noticed any on the long ride west and then south to Barsoom.

The Martian government was far more ubiquitous than it was anywhere in the Ennaretee. Barsoom had plenty of law, at every level from the neighborhood on up to Internal Security and plenty of establishments hired their own security forces. Yet all that law didn’t stop muggers and pickpockets and beggars. Perhaps, Fen concluded, Barsoom would be even more lawless than it already appeared to be.

Fortunately, the livery stable job proved easy. He had plenty of time to explore the city, watch the minor conclave sessions, and work out the fastest route out of Barsoom for his eventual departure home.

He spent a lot of time educating himself in the complex of conclave buildings. There was nothing like it in Robinsin for the quad, or the ninesquare. He wasn’t sure there was a building like it in the eastern half of the Ennaretee, in one of the larger free-cities. But there should be. He could see the need easily enough. The Ennaretee demesnes were members of the Four Hundred. Why was their regional zemstvo held here instead of back home where it would be convenient? Robinsin was centrally located and the major north-south railway to Panschin passed right by the free-city. The town even had a hotel, although nothing on the scale of what he saw in Barsoom.

Observing the minor conclave sessions was not like watching paint dry as he had been warned. Fen decided after a session it was more like watching grass grow. The changes were subtle but they were there, every day, and at the end of the day or the week or the month or the quarter or the year, what had been stubble was a meter high, racing towards maturity, setting seed, and being eaten by some animal. That is, performing the function of grass or any other plant. Watching the representatives of the daimyos argue about legislation was surprisingly interesting. It was even more interesting to realize that they didn’t always know what the result of those laws would be, years down the road.

The other thing Fen learned from his explorations was he hated Barsoom. It didn’t feel normal or healthy to cram so many people into such a small area. After a particularly noisy night, spent overhearing the drunken revelry in the bar next to the livery stable, he was done. He’d seen enough of the minor conclave sessions to understand how they worked. He could see the value of pushing for something similar in Robinsin for the quad of HighTower, VanDenRooz, Winzlow, and Aguillero and perhaps to the ninesquare afterwards.

It was time to return home.

After cleaning his quota of stalls, Fen checked in with the livery stable owner, Mrs. Cardozo, to tell her his decision. He hadn’t realized when he spoke with her on his arrival that he was talking to the one of the co-owners and not just another clerk. For her part, she didn’t know who his father was. Fen didn’t bother correcting her because she wouldn’t understand why any member of the Four Hundred slept in a stall with his horse. HighTower was just a name to her.

“Hmm. I am still short-handed. Can you stay until Chuck proves himself? You’re the best short-term help I’ve ever had around the place,” Mrs. Cardozo said.

“I can give you a day, but then I’ve got to go home, Mrs. Cardozo.” Fen grinned at the woman and winked at her pretty daughter peeking around the corner of the office. The girl, Astrid, was old enough to notice boys and she had taken to hanging around Fen as he scraped stalls clean when she wasn’t working herself.

“My thanks,” Mrs. Cardozo said. “I appreciate the hard work you’ve put into the place.”

“Does that mean I can sleep in the loft tonight instead of in the stall with Coppertail?”

“No. Get back to work.”

He chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s what I like about you, Fen HighTower,” the woman said. “You don’t argue with me and insist on speaking only with my husband.”

“You’re both the owners. Seems simple to me.”

She sniffed. “You would think.”

* * *

“Get plenty of sleep, my dear Yilanda,” Albion said. “We’ll arrive in Barsoom in the morning and by this time tomorrow evening, you’ll be the daimyah of Orlov.”

“Yay,” Lannie mumbled over her dessert of bananas flambé. She’d never eaten them before and they were wonderful; sweet, spicy, and when the waiter prepared them tableside, he set them on fire! She’d never eaten anything on fire before. She would have enjoyed her dessert far more if she wasn’t terrified of the next day’s activities. Walter wasn’t saying how he would help her escape Rastislav Orlov, Ulla wouldn’t help and would tattle if she knew about her planned escape and theft, and Charlton would be no help at all.

“Albion, can’t we spend even a single day in Barsoom before you sell your daughter?” Ulla asked sweetly. “Lannie needs a decent trousseau. We need plenty of time to shop.”

Albion looked pityingly at Ulla. “My dear daughter is marrying the daimyo of Orlov. He can purchase the finest trousseau for Yilanda. In fact, I’m sure he will want to. He’ll deck my little girl out in pearls, lace and all the latest fashions, befitting a daimyah of a great and noble eastern hot zone demesne.”

“Yay,” Lannie mumbled again and pushed away her bananas flambé. They suddenly tasted like ashes.

“You mean you’re desperate for money for your gambling debts,” Ulla sneered.

“You could use that money you’re extorting from Orlov to pay for repairs in your corner of DelFino,” Walter said. “You know, the money you got from the daimyo for maintenance and upkeep and then wasted on gambling?”

“I’ve got to agree with Walter, painful as that is,” Charlton said, the first time he had spoken during dinner. “And there’s mama’s care. How do I know you’ll use that money to take her to the Great Hospital in Barsoom and get her the medical care she needs? How do Lannie and I know that you won’t go off gambling again with that money?”

Lannie looked up, sick to her stomach with a new fear. She hadn’t once thought of the possibility. How could Charlton have thought of such a terrible thing and she hadn’t? Ulla was right. She didn’t think.

“Daddy,” she said near tears. “I’m being sacrificed to save mama and if you don’t save her, I’ll come back and haunt you after Rastislav rapes me and beats me to death.”

Albion rolled his eyes.

“You are being overly dramatic, Yilanda,” he replied. “He is the daimyo of Orlov and as such, a well-bred gentleman. Gentlemen never behave badly.”

“You are a delusional ass,” Ulla said, spearing Albion with her eyes and her dessert fork aimed at his heart.

“Look in your damn mirror,” Charlton said, glaring at his father. He forced his hands away from the table knives.

“Shondra says he’s awful,” Lannie said. “I believe her. I don’t believe you.” She made herself put down her water glass, so breakable when thrown.

“Orlov chooses their daimyo via primogeniture so they don’t necessarily get the best, most gentlemanly candidate,” Walter said in a voice edged with bitterness. “Unlike DelFino, say, where we look for leadership qualities, management skills, farsightedness, and everything else a demesne needs in a daimyo. They stick with the oldest son of the oldest son, no matter what a piece of shit he is, whereas we would never dream of accepting even the most qualified daimyo’s son.”

“None of you have any life experience and so you are complete ignoramuses,” Albion declaimed. “You are all wrong, even Walter who was showing so much promise at making sparkling dinner conversation. I see I shall have to take the lead. Let me tell you about the time I participated in amateur theatricals in a joint production here in Barsoom with DelFino, Woo, Song, and Goryonov. We raised a vast sum of money for charity.”

“Yay,” Lannie said and stuck her fingers in her ears.

“Great,” Charlton said and twisted in his seat to stare out the window across the aisle.

“Can’t wait,” Ulla said and twisted in her seat to stare out the window on her side.

“Does everything have to be about you?” Walter asked and focused all his attention on his guava tarte.

* * *

“We’ll arrive late tonight,” Dimitri said. “I know you won’t get to see any of Barsoom, but I’ll take you driving tomorrow.”

“Will we have time?” Iolanthe asked. “The daimyo wants to marry that DelFino girl as quickly as possible.”

“Right,” Dimitri said, his eyes darting around the compartment. “I had forgotten.”

Iolanthe stared at her brother. “Are you well, Dimitri?”

He spread his hands. “I’m fine. Just worried.” He flicked his eyes towards Nelly, sitting quietly over her mending in the corner of their first-class compartment. “I don’t want anything to go wrong with the daimyo’s upcoming marriage,” he added.

Iolanthe’s eyes flicked over to Nelly as well. “True. The DelFino girl will give him many sons, if our dear daimyo follows the instructions Madame Orlov revealed to him in his dreams.”

“I’m going to let you catch a nap,” Dimitri said. “So you’re well rested for tomorrow.”

“How thoughtful,” Iolanthe said. What was going on with Dimitri? Still, it would be helpful if she slept a bit and with Dimitri out of the compartment, Nelly could massage her leg. It had ached all day with the train’s vibrations.

As soon as the door closed behind Dimitri, Nelly looked up from the chemise she was mending.

“Miss Iolanthe? If I may?” she spoke to the padded armrest Iolanthe was leaning on.

“Yes, Nelly?”

“I wanted to thank you for introducing that Mrs. Pondicherry to the daimyo. He forgot all about me and here I thought I’d have to put out for him until we left for DelFino.”

“Mm. Yes. Quite possibly,” Iolanthe said. The maid was crude, but accurate.

Nelly’s eyes darted around the compartment as Dimitri’s had, coming to rest on the window on Iolanthe’s other side.

“I won’t tattle on you or Master Dimitri to the daimyo, my lady. He’s bad for Orlov.”

“I would prefer not to discuss the daimyo, Nelly. It is unseemly.”

“Yes, miss. I got family in Orlov, in the seventh village.” Nelly looked up and met Iolanthe’s eyes with her own hard blue ones, her face stony. “I don’t want nothing bad to happen to them.”

“None of us want bad things to happen to our families, Nelly. I will ask papa and Uncle Ljubo to look out for them.”

Nelly dropped her eyes back to her delicate, almost invisible stitching. “Thank you, my lady.”

Iolanthe watched the maid, her head bent over the torn chemise, the silver needle flashing in her hand. Was Nelly making a threat? Or was she genuinely concerned about whatever family she had left behind in Orlov? The maid couldn’t know there was every chance Charlton DelFino would refuse to marry and she, Iolanthe, would be sent back to Orlov in disgrace. If that happened, Nelly would go back to Orlov too. Rastislav might well go after the maid again, when he tired of the DelFino girl. He had enjoyed Nelly far longer than he usually did with any of his doxies. Now why was that?

She didn’t want to know, Iolanthe realized. She didn’t want to return to Orlov and find out. Please, please, she prayed, let Charlton DelFino accept me. I won’t get to see papa or Dimitri or the family as often, but I won’t be trapped in Orlov either. We can write. We can visit. I won’t be any different from any other girl in the Four Hundred, marrying into another demesne. I want to be normal.

If I am allowed to visit or they are allowed to visit me. Damn Rastislav. Maybe he would have a heart attack in his private railcar due to his exertions with Mrs. Pondicherry. Or a stroke. That would work too. His death would solve so many problems.

* * *

Rastislav groaned and shifted in the big bed as the train raced towards Barsoom. He was loosely tied to the bed, something he would normally never agree to, but Mrs. Pondicherry was persuasive and she had been right he would enjoy what she did to him. She, gloriously naked except for ropes of pearls, cerise lace gloves and stockings, straddled him and smiled lasciviously, then ran her hands across his chest to pinch his nipples. A bucket of ice along with champagne was conveniently at hand, waiting for her use, along with lit wax tapers in the candelabra.

He had to keep this woman for himself, husband or not. She was insatiable and so, so inventive and imaginative. He had done things he’d never thought of before, with her. He had not known how much he had been missing, until he met her.

If he could lure her to Orlov, she would belong to him from the moment she set foot on the demesne. As the daimyo, he owned every single person, animal, plant, building, and resource. They were his, to do with as he pleased. She would belong to him and that husband, whoever he was, couldn’t whine one damn word of complaint to anyone.

He would marry the day he arrived in Barsoom. Yilanda Ranaglia DelFino, eighteen years old that very day, and as beautiful as her mother, Constance, waited for him. His new bride was well-read, eager, yet still a virgin. She would be exciting in a fresh, new way, unlike the very experienced Mrs. Pondicherry.

She wouldn’t tell him her given name. Yet. Once in Orlov, however, that would change. There, she would fully understand who held the whip hand.

In Yilanda’s letter (Rastislav had reread it many times, each time regretting she had not written again), she indicated she wanted him to guide her in the pleasures of the marital bed. Mrs. Pondicherry would be a stellar instructor. He could keep them both, a wife and a concubine. The thought was stimulating. Why hadn’t he done this before? His relatives would disapprove but since when did that matter? He was the daimyo. He could do what he wanted. Mrs. Pondicherry would happily participate and Yilanda Ranaglia DelFino would learn.

* * *

Lannie squirmed and wriggled in the carriage, wanting to leap out and disappear into the streets of Barsoom. She could vanish in the crowds and no one would ever find her. Except for the fact that she was not familiar with the vast city, already lost, and had no money. But she’d still be better off than she would be, married to the daimyo of Orlov. Maybe mama would die but she’d die if she understood what was happening to her daughter. Lannie fretted over her mother’s increasing vagueness. Mama didn’t know and she wouldn’t understand if she was told.

“Look!” Ulla screeched. She stood up in the carriage and pointed at an elaborately tiled building with huge windows filled with beautiful clothes. “Montaines! We can stop right now and get Lannie something, anything for her trousseau. Even you, worthless father that you are, can’t deny your daughter a chance to buy something new and pretty for her wedding day.”

“How dare you,” Albion spat. “I am not worthless. I am a member of DelFino and a gentleman.”

“Then act like one and give me and Lannie half an hour to go shopping! That’s all we need! I’ve planned out my trousseau to the last detail so I can be quick,” Ulla shouted, waving her hands wildly.

Lannie stared, welcoming the distraction from her worries about mama and herself. She could not understand Ulla’s fixation on trousseaus. Although, once inside the huge shop that Montaine’s looked to be, she could easily disappear. Maybe she could get a job there, after the dust settled and everyone stopped looking for her.

“Yes, absolutely, daddy,” Lannie shrieked. “Stop the carriage!”

“I am not going to risk being late, Yilanda. We are going directly to the DelFino townhouse and you are not setting foot outside the building until it’s time to head to that cathedral you insisted on. Zachery will be waiting for us, to witness your nuptials, as will selected members of DelFino and society.”

Lannie wanted to scream and settled for bursting into tears, letting all her fear and anger pour out.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ulla said over Lannie’s sobs. “That’s all I ask. Fifteen minutes.”

“Fine. Leave now and find your own way to the townhouse,” Albion said. “My daughter and I are not going to chance being late.”

“I’ll stay,” Ulla grumbled and slumped back against the carriage seats. She grabbed Lannie’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“You let Charlton and Walter go,” Lannie accused through her tears.

“To make arrangements for horses and vehicles at the livery stable,” Albion replied. “The DelFino townhouse has a contract.”

“You mean Zachery doesn’t want you using the DelFino horses or carriages because he’s afraid of you stealing them,” Ulla shot back.

“You are a harpy, Ulla, did you know that?” Albion said pleasantly. “I will be happy to see the last of you, as I’m sure Charlton and Lannie will be.”

“Speak for yourself, daddy,” Lannie sniffled. “Ulla may not be the sweetest person, but she’s taught me a lot that I never learned from anyone else and she cares about the wellbeing of the people around her. Unlike you.”

Ulla shifted in her seat, fished out a handkerchief, and wiped away Lannie’s tears. “Thank you,” she said. She leaned over and whispered, “I’m trying, Lannie. I’m trying.”

When she had wiped Lannie’s face clean, Ulla turned back to Albion.

You say I’m a harpy. Remember the purpose of a harpy before you do something even more venal and stupid than you already have.”

* * *

Lannie was heaving with sobs by the time they reached the DelFino townhouse.

“Yilanda,” Albion said as they marched up the steps to the impressive front door. “You are embarrassing yourself by weeping in front of the servants and the neighbors.”

Lannie cried harder.

“Lannie is not embarrassing herself. She is pointing out to the servants and the neighbors that you, her father, are selling her off to the highest bidder for your own gain,” Ulla said coldly. “You should be embarrassed.”

The longtime DelFino Barsoom butler waited at the front door, his face a blank mask.

“Miss Ulla, welcome back.”

“Thank you, Grimaldi. Please look after Lannie,” Ulla replied.

“Miss Yilanda, I will do the utmost to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Lannie nodded, sniffling, eyes streaming and clinging to Ulla’s hand.

“Lannie, sweetie,” Ulla said. “I have to leave for an hour or so. I will be back before you go to the cathedral. Grimaldi will take care of you while I’m gone.”

Lannie burst into loud wails. “Don’t leave me to look at trousseaus!”

Ulla hugged her tightly and whispered, “I’ve got to. This may help your mama. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She disentangled herself from Lannie and ran down the steps to the waiting carriage. Her face might have been carved from stone, but when she climbed into the carriage, she began chewing on her next littlest fingernail on her left hand.

Lannie wailed harder as she watched Ulla ride away to freedom in the carriage while her father stood stiffly by, frozen with angry embarrassment. Every servant around them bore the same blank look edged with contempt as did the passersby on the street.

In the end, Grimaldi coaxed Lannie inside the townhouse and upstairs to a quiet, luxurious bedchamber where tea, little sandwiches, a hot bath and a soft bed waited. Two maids were ready and they persuaded a hysterically sobbing Lannie to eat, to bathe, and to dress for a much-needed nap.

Albion DelFino was left to fume and fend for himself.

* * *

“Are you sure?” Ulla demanded.

The apothecary breathed in deeply the mingled scents of the tisane sachet, slit open and spread out on a white porcelain plate. He pushed the herbs around with a finger, observing the colors and shapes of each dried fragment. He tasted a tiny sample, letting it roll in his mouth, before spitting it out.

“As sure as I can be without performing a chemical analysis. This tisane does not match the ingredient list you provided. None of them do. But, as I said, without brewing samples and analyzing them, I may be wrong and even then, there are herbs very similar in appearance and composition with wildly different medicinal results.”

Ulla threw an anxious glance over at the clock on the wall. The visit to the research apothecary at the Great Hospital had taken far more time than it should have, despite her using the DelFino name and plenty of hard coin to ensure front of the line service.

“I want a full analysis of each sample along with a discussion of what those herbs do. I also want a discussion of the tisane ingredient lists and what those herbs are supposed to do. Send the results and the final bill directly to me at DelFino. I’ll pay extra for speed.”

“Yes, Miss DelFino. May I ask why the ingredients and the actual sachets differ so much? Someone may be taking the wrong sachets and they should stop at once.”

“I’m unsure. I’m working on the problem,” Ulla said and forcibly shoved her left hand into her hip. She’d begun gnawing on her second littlest fingernail and was quickly shredding it.

“Whoever devised both the ingredient list and the actual sachets is quite skillful,” the apothecary added. He was an older man, with decades of experience. “We could use someone like that here in our laboratories.”

“Really?” Ulla asked. “Even though these are, um, poisonous?”

The apothecary smiled condescendingly. “The dose makes the poison, Miss DelFino. None of the sample ingredient lists are poisonous. The sachets do not seem to be either. If whoever devised these mixtures wanted to kill someone, they’d already be dead and no one would ever suspect a thing.”

“Right,” Ulla said after a long, long moment. She had to make an effort to shut her mouth. “Not poisonous.”

“No, Miss DelFino. They are not. They are therapeutic, depending on the illness being treated.”

“But for an otherwise healthy person?” Ulla asked.

“It would depend on what you were trying to accomplish.”

“I see,” Ulla said. She couldn’t stop herself from gnawing on her fingernail and the apothecary waited patiently for her.

“What if you, say,” Ulla began carefully, “wanted to make someone appear ill? Coughing like they have a fungal infection? Vagueness so they don’t quite understand what’s happening?”

The apothecary pushed the herbs on the plate into little piles while he thought.

“The ingredient lists you supplied me would treat coughs, lung and sinus inflammations as well as fungal infections. I believe the sachet contents encourage coughing.” He stopped when he saw her expression.

“That’s acceptable and usual in medicine,” he said reassuringly. “We encourage coughing when the lungs need to be cleared of phlegm.”

“I didn’t realize. Please continue,” Ulla said. She braced herself on the counter.

“The vagueness could be a side effect of some pain-relieving herbs.”

“I see. Would there be any other effects?”

“Quite possibly. The mixtures are unique. I’ll know with the analysis.”

“Thank you,” Ulla said faintly. “Get them done as quickly as you can.”


	14. Is that Walter being beaten up by some savage?

“Is it impossible for you think of something to say? You need a hobby, Charlton,” Walter sniped as they walked silently through the streets of Barsoom to the livery stable.

“I have enough work to do,” Charlton replied. “I don’t have time to waste on birdwatching or cloud formations unrelated to weather guessing.”

Walter groaned. “The point of a hobby, Charlton, is to give you something to talk about with other people. To find a point of common interest. To have something to share other than digging ditches with grubby peasants.”

“Walter?” Charlton said pleasantly. “You could be my dad’s twin. He talks like that all the time.”

Walter’s face darkened with irritation. “Do not compare me to your worthless father.”

“Isn’t he the one who’s been working so hard with you on improving your sparkling dinner conversation? And haven’t you been eating it up?” Charlton asked.

“Sparkling conversation is a skill and, unlike you, I take great pride in being skilled in a variety of subjects. Did you know that I once took sleight of hand lessons from a magician? Your father, wastrel that he is, does have the skill of sparkling conversation so, unlike you, I am learning the only skill he is capable of teaching,” Walter replied.

Charlton clenched his fists, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Walter. Walter was taller with a longer reach, but they both knew from direct physical experience who was stronger.

“Ah!” Walter said with relief. “The livery stable.”

“Charlton!” a voice called from across the street.

Both young men turned and Charlton smiled, a rare gesture for him.

“I was hoping to see you,” he said and ran across the street to hug the stranger.

Walter followed more slowly. Who in seven hells was this? He was very well-dressed at least, so whoever he was, he wasn’t some grubby peasant.

“Walter!” Charlton yelled. “Get over here and meet Dimitri.”

Walter sauntered across the street; taking his time because it gave him time to place the stranger in the hierarchy and because it would irritate Charlton.

* * *

Introductions over, the three young men headed to the livery stable to make the arrangements.

Once at the livery stable’s main yard, Charlton said, “Walter, Dimitri and I have to talk. Find a team of horses and a carriage my dad won’t carp about too much. We’ll catch up.”

“Sure,” Walter said.

He watched suspiciously as Charlton and Dimitri stepped just far enough away that he couldn’t eavesdrop. Since when did Charlton DelFino and Dimitri Orlov know each other that well? Charlton had implied they barely knew each other. His father Albion, who you couldn’t shut up, had said the same. Then he caught sight of a teenage girl leading a handsome bay mare into the rearmost stable from the yard. The girl was pretty and young, with long dark hair loosely tied back. She was exactly the age he preferred and as a livery stable employee, she wouldn’t be unfriendly to him, a DelFino prince.

She wouldn’t dare.

An even better notion struck him as he watched her. Unlikely though it was with peasant girls who normally went at first flowering to some churl’s heap of straw, he might be her first lover and wasn’t that an exciting thought to heat his blood.

“Take your time,” Walter called back and strode confidently after the dark-haired girl into the stable. There was always time for fun. He’d spent far too much time trying to drag Charlton up to basic DelFino standards and he needed this relaxation. It had been a while and in this particular instance with this particular girl, Charlton wouldn’t find out and might not care if he did.

He caught up with the girl towards the end of one of the stable’s many wings. The horses he passed varied in quality although there was one eye-catching liver gelding with a copper mane and tail who looked to have excellent endurance. That one might do for Albion, if the animal was trained to harness. The lighter colored mane and tail against the darker body were flashy; the only attribute Albion DelFino valued in a horse. As worthless as Charlton was, he knew far more about horses than his father did.

Walter stopped and watched the girl for a moment as she began mucking out the stall.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said. “What’s your name?”

The girl looked up at him warily.

“Astrid, sir. Are you looking for a horse?”

“I’m looking for a ride, but I’ll pick out a pair of horses when we’re done.”

She looked instantly warier. “The answer is no.”

“I’m Walter DelFino and nobody tells me ‘no’ especially some low-born stable slut.” He stepped forward.

She didn’t answer. Instead she flung the pitchfork loaded with manure and straw she had been holding directly in his face.

Walter yelled in fury and lunged towards Astrid. Her aim had been poor and she’d missed his face but his clothes were ruined. She screamed too, her back against the stall and the pitchfork clutched in her shaking hands.

Fen, toiling in the next line of stalls, heard a yell, then Astrid’s scream along with, worrisomely, a deeper male voice’s vicious swearing.

“Hey! Quit that!” Fen yelled. He ran down the rows of stalls, listening intently so he didn’t have to check each wing in turn, looking for Astrid.

Ah. The right one on his first try. His luck was with him. An overdressed blonde princeling with shit and straw smeared across his clothes was stomping into an empty stall at the end of the row, his face a mask of fury. A stupid princeling then, since Astrid must have a pitchfork to have thrown that much shit and straw onto him in one go.

He’d have to get there before Astrid plunged the pitchfork into the princeling causing no end of trouble or worse, the princeling got the pitchfork away from her causing even more trouble.

Fen charged down the alley between stalls and a second later drove a fist into the princeling’s back, knocking him face first into a wall. Then he dragged him upright, a suffocating arm clamped around his throat to keep him from fighting back.

“You okay, Astrid?”

“Yes,” she gulped and nodded. Her eyes were wide with terror and she was shaking so badly she dropped the pitchfork.

“Go get your dad. I’ll take care of this sack of shit.”

“He says he’s Walter DelFino! He’s DelFino!” Astrid wailed. “They’ll ruin us.”

“Not if he wants to be embarrassed across the Four Hundred,” Fen said. “Quit stalling and run get your dad!”

Walter struggled, but his head rang and the arm around his neck was too tight, choking him. He went limp and concentrated on breathing. He’d get his chance. Whoever this fool was, he’d pay and pay and pay for laying hands on a DelFino.

Fen dragged Walter down the row of stalls past the restive horses. He sent a little prayer of thanks to his ancestors for keeping him in Barsoom another day. Astrid would have been lucky to be left alive if he hadn’t come so quick to her rescue.

It didn’t take long to reach the main stable yard. There was plenty of space for a beating that wouldn’t upset the horses.

* * *

“Hey! Is that Walter being beaten up by some savage?” Dimitri gasped. “Look! In the livery stable’s yard.”

“Damnation,” Charlton swore as he watched Walter being strong-armed and pummeled by a grubby, scruffy stablehand sporting a braid down to his ass. “He probably deserves it, the idiot. But he’s my relative and soon to be yours and nobody lays a hand on DelFino. Nobody.”

Dimitri looked down at his fine clothes, the Orlov sigil picked out in pearls across his chest complementing his snow-white lace cuffs. “I’m not dressed for this, neither are you, but what the hell. I can’t pound the sot into paste like I want to, so a stablehand beating up a relative will have to do. Shall we?”

Charlton grinned and smacked his right fist into his other hand.

“I feel the same way.”

Both young men ran across the street and dove in.

* * *

Fen found himself being attacked on two sides by two more overdressed princelings and fought back. He had to let Walter go, dumping him into the muddy yard as he warded off blows from princelings who had actually had some training although not enough of the street fighting kind.

It still wasn’t a fair fight, two on one and then three on one when Walter lurched back onto his feet, itching to get his own back.

It was made even less so when multiple buckets of water were thrown onto him and the princelings.

“Quit this foolishness right now!” Mr. Cardozo shouted. He’d shown up at last, with reinforcements consisting of the rest of his employees, all of whom were itching for a fight. Astrid was everyone’s favorite.

“Who the hellation are you?” Mr. Cardozo demanded as his own grooms unceremoniously dragged the muddy, anonymous fighters apart.

“Walter Keerkehgard DelFino,” Walter said and bared his teeth. “He started it.” He wiped the clinging mud from his face and pointed at Fen.

“Charlton Ranaglia DelFino.”

“Dimitri Deengar Orlov.”

Mr. Cardozo paled and stifled a groan. He knew those family names. He had a lucrative contract with DelFino, supplying extra horses and carriages as needed to supplement their own in-town stable. Fen HighTower had been a good worker but he was just another rube from somewhere deep within the Ennaretee. It wasn’t like he was an important member of the Four Hundred like those three entitled princelings.

“Daddy,” Astrid sobbed, running to her father. “Fen tried to help me.”

Charlton looked over at Walter with contempt, then at the tear-soaked girl clinging to her father. Pretty. Younger than Lannie. Low status so she couldn’t fight back. He knew Walter and this was not a surprise.

“My baby!” Mrs. Cardozo ran out from her office and clutched Astrid to her breast. “Astrid, are you all right?” Her husband put a protective arm around both of them, while wondering what would happen to his family, his business, his employees and their families. DelFino. Orlov. He was ruined. He’d lose his contract by the end of the day and that was just the beginning of how DelFino and Orlov would punish him. Everyone around him knew, based on their fearful expressions, bloodless faces, and incoherent mumbling.

“Mommy, Fen saved me,” Astrid wept. “It’s not his fault.”

“We’re done here!” Charlton roared, surprising everyone else into silence. “Walter, you ruin these people and guess what conversation I’ll have with Zachery.”

“Charlton,” Walter snarled. “You don’t get it.”

Charlton got right up against Walter and hissed, “yes, I do. You want to be shamed across the Four Hundred _and_ word get back to the Kahn family? You think a princess like Naomi Kahn will marry some wastrel who chases after underage peasant girls?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Walter muttered, low enough so only Charlton and Dimitri could hear. “She led me on.”

“Bullshit, or should I say horseshit. She’s not old enough to know how,” Charlton said.

“Walter,” Dimitri said, stepping forward. He was urbane despite the coat of mud, shit, and straw caked to his ruined clothes. He flicked mud off the Orlov sigil, dislodging a few shining pearls along with the mud. He managed to send some of the spray onto Walter, ensuring any remaining clean spots on his clothes were ruined.

“I know the Kahn family. They expect the best for their daughters. I’ve met Naomi Kahn personally and she really is the most gorgeous, refined girl in the entire Nourz quad. I can guarantee she won’t marry you if her family hears a reason to say ‘no’ like this one.” Dimitri waved his hand around the angry, muttering crowd, finishing with Astrid. “They have plenty of scions of the Four Hundred to choose from, all of them without a stain on their reputation.”

“Fine,” Walter muttered.

He looked over at the paunchy owner, his dowdy wife, Astrid clinging to her mother, the angry grooms, and the scruffy, grubby stablehand with the ridiculous braid hanging down to his ass. He thought of the picture of Naomi Kahn, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her picture indicated she was as beautiful as Constance Ranaglia had been in her prime, maybe even more. These churls weren’t worth losing a rich, gorgeous princess, along with access to markets all the way to Easternmost. Later on, he could find a different livery stable to work with DelFino in Barsoom. There were plenty to choose from who would be happy to have the business. He’d even collect a kickback from the lucky winner. He’d keep his word and still come out ahead.

“Say it, Walter, and quit stalling,” Charlton demanded. He smacked a fist into his palm, his eyes cold and intent on Walter’s face. Walter had a bruise growing around his neck from his near-throttling and he’d be hoarse for days, which might encourage him to keep his condescending mouth shut.

“I will not cause harm to you or yours,” Walter grated. “I, Walter Keerkehgard DelFino swear this on the DelFino name.”

“Good. Dimitri and I stand witness. We’ve got some weddings to go to,” Charlton said and grabbed Walter by the arm, making his cousin wince in pain.

“We’re not done,” Fen threatened. He had struggled back to his feet and was wiping shit and straw and mud from his clothes, hair, and beard. He could feel the black eye coming on, but he could still see and he’d gotten his breath back from being pounded into the ground.

Charlton let go of Walter, stomped up to the grubby stablehand, yanked him forward by his dirty shirt, and snarled right into his face, “yes, we are done, if you don’t want to see these people ruined. I am Charlton Ranaglia DelFino and I get what I want and I want this mess to be over.” He let go abruptly, shoving the stablehand back on his ass into the mud.

“I’ll remember your names,” Fen said, incandescent with rage as he lurched back to his feet. There was nothing else he could do or say, not if he wanted the livery stable owners to remain unharmed. The Cardozos had been generous to him, treated him fairly, and he had to let this go, galling though the action was.

Charlton, Dimitri, and Walter all grinned identically; untouchable hot zone princes of the Four Hundred despite their current appearance.

“You do that,” Dimitri said cheerfully. “Not that it will do a rube like you any good.”

“We’ll need two horses and a carriage for DelFino,” Charlton added with a smirk. “Fen, right? I expect a good team.”

“I’ll remember your name, churl,” Walter said coldly. He stared at the grubby stablehand, memorizing the details of his face.

“I’ll get the horses ready,” Fen muttered. He had to force himself to keep his hands loose at his sides, although he couldn’t manage to keep his eyes respectfully focused on the dirt. “By your leave?” he asked Mr. Cardozo, ignoring the men who would receive the horses and the carriage. He had lost. It was stupid to continue this fight now, but later on, he might get another chance.

The owner nodded and Fen limped back into the coolness of the stable. He seethed as he washed off the mud, shit, and straw, and selected a team of horses for the princelings. He chose the flashiest pair the livery stable owned. They were not the pair of carriage horses he would have chosen for himself or anyone else who could recognize quality horses when they saw them. That made this team quite suitable for those risto basuras.

He couldn’t wait to get out of Barsoom.

* * *

Rastislav stormed around the Orlov townhouse in a towering fury.

Mrs. Pondicherry had not gotten off the train with him in Barsoom as she had promised. She told him — in front of witnesses so he couldn’t have his servants drag her to the waiting carriage — that she did not wish to continue the relationship. He had been amusing, but not worth more of her time. Then, upon his return to his private railcar, he discovered she had stolen the ropes of pearls he had insisted she wear, while wearing nothing else. He had planned to present them to her, but her presumptuous insult stung. The only solace was Mrs. Pondicherry didn’t know those pearls were fake. She truly believed she had been wearing the Pearls of Orlov.

Once he discovered her theft, he ran for the hidden safe, opening it with sweating fingers and fear stabbing his vitals. The true Pearls of Orlov were safe and undisturbed, nestled in their protective velvet pouches. She hadn’t found them. His sleep afterwards was filled with dreams of an outraged Madame Orlov berating him for his stupidity, the cold knowledge that he had come close to ruining Orlov, and the horrifying realization that if Mrs. Pondicherry had stolen the Pearls, he would never sire a son and heir. Never. His line would be over. Upon his death, Orlov would go to someone else, someone not of Madame Orlov’s own, direct line of succession.

Madame Orlov would torture him forever in the afterlife, joined by all his other ancestors.

There was no one in the townhouse he could take out his fury on, other than servants.

Dimitri had run off, leaving the ugly cripple behind. She hid in her bedchamber with the maid, Nelly, insisting she needed Nelly’s assistance to ready herself for her marriage to Charlton DelFino.

Rastislav was torn between tearing the door off its hinges and dragging Nelly out to meet his own bodily needs and leaving the maid with the cripple to ensure he got rid of them both. He stood, furious and sweating, in the hallway, his head pounding from the liquor he had swilled down after their arrival in the townhouse. He had to think. He was the daimyo, not some uncontrolled savage. At last, the answer came to him. Charlton DelFino could have the cripple and her ungrateful maid as long as he got the sister, the beauteous Yilanda.

A new thought beckoned, one clearly sent by Madame Orlov. Rastislav smiled at the locked door, knowing the cripple cowered behind it. The cripple, stupid as she was, had been correct. His new bride might be jealous of a mere housemaid and would certainly despise the presence of an ugly cripple so it was good he was getting rid of both of them. But the cripple didn’t know how eagerly his new bride wanted her wedding. He didn’t have to wait for the entire DelFino family to descend on the cathedral along with the rest of the available members of the Four Hundred in Barsoom.

He could demand that Albion produce his daughter hours early. He didn’t have to wait until the end of the day. If Albion wanted hard coin to pay his gambling debts and his wife’s medical bills, he would do as he was told. Yilanda would be pleased too; pleased enough to work harder to please him. He had learned much from Mrs. Pondicherry, the thieving bitch. He’d teach it all to Yilanda; eager, pliant, slutty virgin that she was.

The wedding ceremony in Barsoom was all for show anyway, a way of pleasing Yilanda. The real wedding ceremony would take place in Orlov; on his demesne, in his castle, in front of his family. With Yilanda wearing the Pearls every time he bedded her between now and then, she’d come to her legal wedding with his son already in her belly. His son, his heir.

Rastislav went to his study, rooted around, found paper, and wrote the note to Albion DelFino. He summoned a cringing servant and the note raced off to the DelFino townhouse. Yilanda would be his and sooner than she thought.

* * *

Ulla swore under her breath as time ticked away. She’d been delayed and slowed down from the moment she’d left Lannie behind at the DelFino townhouse and now this.

She had to think and she didn’t have time, not with Lannie’s fate at stake. Could her suspicions be true? Who was truly at fault? Nothing about Albion’s marriage arrangements for Lannie felt right. It was all so difficult to believe. She darted down one hallway after another, trying and failing to find the set of doors she had entered. She’d gotten turned around inside the maze of offices and corridors and, faced with another set of anonymous halls (couldn’t the Great Hospital afford any damn signs?), she didn’t know where she was anymore.

Ulla stopped herself. She was panting and she could feel sweat trickling down her back from agitation as well as the heat.

Panicking was sure to cost her more time than the frustration of carefully retracing her footsteps back to the door she came through and the waiting carriage. She had climbed three flights of stairs to reach the laboratory of the recommended consultant so the first order of business was finding her way back to the ground floor so she could leave the huge red sandstone building housing the apothecary department, via a window if necessary. Now how did the Great Hospital hide staircases since she couldn’t find the main set reserved for patients and their visitors?

There were sure to be multiple, smaller stairs weaving between floors. Every great house she had ever been in contained discreet winding stairs for staff to move about more quickly. The Great Hospital, with its multiple buildings, had hundreds of orderlies, nurses, doctors, and servants all needing to get to their destination without being slowed down by lost visitors, whining patients, and demanding relatives. This building shouldn’t be any different so she just needed to find a set of stairs leading back down, tucked behind an inconspicuous door. Once she was on the ground floor, it should be easier.

Ulla looked around, chewing nervously on her next to littlest left fingernail. She was nearing the quick and would have to start on her other hand soon. She was standing in yet another corridor in the maze, government issue beige from top to bottom, punctuated with the occasional identical beige door. The only difference on any of the doors was the numbers. But there, midway down, the door didn’t have a number. That one? She decided quickly it was better to open it rather than open doors at random, demanding help and embarrassing herself with her foolish ignorance. She, Ulla DelFino, was never ignorant or foolish and she didn’t want to start now.

Ulla gritted her teeth. She’d have to look like a fool if it meant finding the carriage and getting back to the DelFino townhouse in time to help Lannie. Damn Albion anyway. Why had he been so stubborn about stopping to shop for a trousseau? You would think that old ham was perceptive enough — difficult to believe as it was — to be suspicious of her motives. Did he think she would have dragged Lannie off to the rear of the store and then disappeared out into the alley?

Which she would have done, if she could have gotten Albion to stop the damn carriage for some shopping. If she could have gotten Lannie away, they would have had time to find a hotel room and hide while she figured out what to do next. Lannie herself wasn’t up to the job; she just didn’t think.

She tested the door and it was unlocked. And (she said a little prayer of gratitude to DelFino’s gods) it was a winding staircase, heading upwards and down. Narrow, tight, and badly lit, but stairs. Ulla ran down the stairs, trying to figure out what to do next. Ask Charlton for help? Lannie was his sister. Why wasn’t he doing anything? He claimed to be thinking all the time about other people’s needs and, from what she could observe, he was. But his sister didn’t seem to figure in his calculations.

Walter was a possibility. Ulla considered him and then dismissed him, gnawing deeper on a fresh fingernail. Walter wasn’t behaving as she would have expected and hadn’t since soon after their arrival at the crumbling manor house. Charlton, for all his surliness, was trying hard. Yet Walter belittled him, which made no sense since he was supposed to be helping Charlton improve his little corner of DelFino. Besides, Walter generally didn’t do anything that didn’t benefit him in some way.

Ulla whipped around another curve in the staircase, deep in thought and smacked right into someone rounding the curve on his way up.

“Aaah!” she screamed as she fell back, her head ringing. “Get out of my way!”

“Watch where you’re going!”

“I was! You were in my way,” Ulla yelled back, while wondering if she was going crazy. She was yelling at a total stranger in a narrow, badly lit stairwell like the harpy Albion claimed she was.

She swallowed more angry words, picked herself up, and said, more calmly, “my apologies. Now get the hellation out of my way.”

The man grinned at her. “Why should I.”

She stared at him in disbelief; then fear and fury came roaring back.

“Because I am Ulla Tisdale DelFino and I am trying to save my cousin and if you don’t get out of my way, I will have you hung by your toenails, so get out of my way.”

He didn’t look impressed or moveable, for that matter.

“You have to save your cousin?” He had one eyebrow raised as if every word out of her mouth was a ridiculous, melodramatic lie.

“Yes! Her worthless father is selling her to this beast and no one is doing anything and I can’t believe what else is going on because I don’t want to believe it because it’s so terrible and I have to find the damn ground floor and find the exit door and find my carriage and _save_ _**Lannie**_!”

Ulla looked at her hands, shoving themselves of their own accord into some stranger’s broad chest and not making the slightest bit of impact. He wasn’t moving at all. She might as well have been pushing into the wall. She yanked them back.

“You do seem to have a problem.”

“Yes! I do! Get of my way!” She was screaming again. He must think she was crazy. He wasn’t moving and she couldn’t squeeze past him in the narrow stairwell and she didn’t want to run back upstairs and try to locate another staircase down. She probably couldn’t climb over him either.

“Please,” Ulla said, striving for a more modulated tone of voice befitting a DelFino princess expecting to be obeyed without question instead of a screeching harpy.

He grinned at her. “I want something in exchange.”

Ulla went still, suddenly and acutely aware she was alone with a strange man in an empty, narrow, badly lit stairwell. “That depends.”

“So you don’t really need to rescue your cousin that bad?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“So we can negotiate,” Ulla replied firmly, letting him know she wasn’t about to be cowed. “Starting with your name.”

“So you know who to string up by the toenails?”

“I’m running out of time,” Ulla snapped, “so quit stalling and start talking.” Maybe she should try shoving him down the stairs. If she moved fast enough, she could knock him over enough to climb over him and down the stairs. She thought of how immovable he felt under her hands, the feel of solid muscle. Maybe not.

He chuckled. “I’m Yair Buruk. I want you to go walking with me in Burroughs park tomorrow.”

Ulla thought fast. “I can’t.”

Yair’s face went cold.

“I don’t know what will happen today or tomorrow,” Ulla went on rapidly. “It’s a mess. The day after tomorrow at noon. It should all be over by then. Where should I go? I don’t know that park. And why do you want to go walking with me anyway?”

Yair watched her for a moment, as if studying something strange and new.

“Noon the day after tomorrow is fine. There’s a red-roofed pavilion next to the ornamental lake. I’ll be there.” He smiled. “I want to tell my friends that I went walking with a DelFino princess.”

Ulla rolled her eyes and groaned. “Ugh. You’re a social climber. Fine. To recap, Yair, I’ll meet you at the red-roofed pavilion by the ornamental lake in Burroughs Park the day after tomorrow at noon. In the meantime, get me to the exit and make it snappy so I can save my cousin.”

“You don’t dither. I like that. This way.” Yair spun on his heel and trotted back down the stairs.

Ulla stared at his broad back disappearing down the stairs, shook her head and darted after him.

They reached the bottom of the stairs quickly; he opened the door into another anonymous, empty back hallway and said “follow me. Don’t run off.”

As if I would, Ulla thought. I’m still lost but at least I’m on the ground floor and you didn’t try to lead me further down into the basement levels so you might be reliable.

Yair rapidly threaded his way down the maze of hallways, leading to another anonymous door. He opened it, letting the outside sunshine flood in, blinding Ulla.

“Here.”

She stepped outside, blinking. “This is wrong! This isn’t the front entrance.”

“This way. I’m taking the shortest route.”

“You better be right,” Ulla muttered.

“Toenails?”

“Yes.”

They trotted down a path winding around the building and suddenly, rounding another corner, Ulla recognized the street she had arrived on and off to her left, the front of the building, heavily ornamented with elaborate carvings, wide windowsills, even heavier doorframes, and a broad procession of marble steps to reach the main doors. The builders hadn’t wasted any ornamentation on the side of the building she had exited from, shielded from the public eye as it was by another building’s equally plain façade.

She stood on tiptoe hoping to see her carriage, saw nothing, and swore like a stablehand, making Yair blink at her extensive vocabulary. Then she heaved herself up on the window sill to see better, not caring anymore what she looked like or how much leg she showed. “Thank the Gods. There’s my carriage.”

Ulla dropped back to the ground and made a formal curtesy to Yair. “I will meet you as planned. Thank you, Yair Buruk.”

She turned back towards the street and ran across the lawn and then the broad sidewalk, elbowing pedestrians out of the way, heading towards the grassy lot across the street. Numerous carriages waited there, the horses munching grass and the bored drivers gossiping about their employers.

Yair watched her pelt across the street, dodging traffic, and dive into a carriage, while shouting instructions to her startled coachman. The insignia emblazoned on the side of the carriage was unambiguous.

“Guess you really might be a DelFino princess in a panic,” Yair murmured. “Or a lying DelFino maid with a mouth like that. Wonder if you’ll show.”

The coachman soon got the carriage moving back onto the street, found a place in the traffic, and headed towards the DelFino townhouse. Ulla settled back onto the seat and worked out what she was going to say to Albion, to Lannie, to Charlton, and hopefully to Zachery. The daimyo should have arrived by now. He could sort out this mess. And once this mess was sorted out, she could decide what she thought of Yair Buruk and why she’d agreed to walk in the park with a total stranger with a very nice ass. She’d gotten a very good view of his ass in motion, along with a broad back and wide shoulders, following him down those stairs. She could still feel the hard muscle of his chest under her hands.

But those were not good enough reasons to meet him.

* * *

Charlton, Dimitri, and Walter decided to walk back to the DelFino townhouse. It wasn’t far and they were so dirty from the fight, they would have ruined the hired carriage’s upholstery. They also reeked of horse manure, although Walter was the worst off.

“Not that I care,” Walter said. Which was true. “But Albion will get tedious and I don’t care to deal with him.”

“Thoughtful as ever,” Charlton said.

“I must agree,” Dimitri said.

“How well do you two know each other?” Walter asked suspiciously.

“Hardly at all,” Charlton said.

“We met by chance,” Dimitri agreed.

“I was in Barsoom.”

“As was I.”

“One thing led to another.”

“And here we are,” Dimitri finished up with a charming smile only slightly marred by the mud and trickle of blood from where the stablehand had cut his eyebrow open with a lucky blow. “Charlton’s sister marrying my own beloved daimyo and Charlton marrying my own beloved sister. I’ll be related to DelFino twice over, Walter.”

Walter decided on the spot to not ask Dimitri if his beloved sister was an ugly, stupid, crippled, dowerless harpy as Charlton described. Dimitri wouldn’t hesitate to pound him into paste and if he didn’t, Charlton would beat him up later on as punishment for embarrassing him. He also didn’t need to annoy Charlton into telling Zachery some lurid, exaggerated version of why they had been fighting with a stablehand. His father, the daimyo, did not know about his tastes and it would be better all around if he never did.

It was also better to watch discreetly and figure out why the two of them were lying. The daimyo of DelFino might be very interested; valuable information was a useful commodity and could be used to counterbalance unsavory rumors.

“Home at last,” Charlton said. He marched up the broad steps, ignoring the glances of bystanders, and pounded on the door.

Grimaldi arrived promptly and gave the trio of filthy, reeking beggars the fish-eye.

“We do not dispense charity to riffraff,” he intoned. “The Shepherds perform that function.”

“Grimaldi, it’s us, Walter and Charlton and a guest, Dimitri Orlov,” Walter stated. He’d elbowed his way to the front. Charlton didn’t know how to talk to servants.

“We need baths right away, Grimaldi,” Charlton said, forcibly holding Walter back from stepping into the foyer onto the gleaming marble floor and the exquisitely patterned wool carpet that lay beyond. “I don’t want to track stable mud through the house.”

“I see,” Grimaldi replied. “Very thoughtful of you, Master Charlton. Go around to the back and come in through the kitchens.”

* * *

Lannie lay in the bed and stared at the beautifully painted ceiling overhead. It was designed to look like a perfect summer day, with luxuriously puffy pink-tinged clouds drifting in an azure sea. Birds darted across the sky, looking real enough to sing.

She’d managed to eat a few tiny sandwiches and drink some tea. The bath had been soothing. The bed was soft and big enough to sprawl in. The maids had drawn the drapes leaving the room dim and quiet. Everything in the room encouraged calmness.

Conditions were perfect for a nap. But she couldn’t sleep and didn’t know if she ever would again.

The warm bath had done more than clean her body. It had relaxed her enough to think, something Ulla insisted she needed to do.

Ulla was right. She had to think and figure out a way to save herself from Rastislav Orlov. No one else would.

She could hear the front door opening and closing, the sound far away and muffled. Grimaldi, she assumed, opening the door to Zachery, the daimyo of DelFino come at last to see her married off to Rastislav.

Where was Charlton? Worse, where was Walter who had sworn he would help her? She’d be wed to that vicious geezer and after writing that pornographic letter Walter had insisted upon as part of his plan. She couldn’t hide behind innocent, maidenly modesty to Rastislav after a letter like that one. She hadn’t quite understood some of what Walter had insisted she copy and he had refused to explain.

Then the front door opened again, but moments later, the door was closed with enough force to almost make it sound like a slam. Almost. But Grimaldi would never slam a door shut against anyone.

Charlton must have come home at last.


	15. Tell the daimyo it is life and death.

Grimaldi stalked through the house with his silver tray, his face a blank mask. His rigid posture indicated to anyone who knew him how distasteful he found this particular errand. He was bearing a letter for that rotted ham, Albion, about his daughter, Miss Yilanda. Regrettably, the daimyo had not yet arrived. He would be most disapproving over the letter’s demand and as the head of the family, his desires would take precedence over Albion’s.

Grimaldi had not opened and read the letter. It wasn’t his place to do so.

It _was_ his place to ask the panting Orlov servant what was the desperate hurry and he had done so. Surprisingly, the Orlov servant — it was hard to tell if he was poorly trained or disapproved of the errand — had told him the contents of the daimyo of Orlov’s letter. Dreadful. Simply dreadful. Poor Miss Yilanda. Who was here to support her? The always capable Miss Ulla had yet to return. At least the young men and their guest had returned. They appeared to have been fighting in a cesspit, but they were currently scrubbing themselves clean.

Grimaldi stopped. Should he inform Master Charlton before or after finding Albion? Miss Yilanda was his sister and he had heard via the grapevine that Master Charlton was finally shaping up. Master Charlton had been considerate at the front door, confirming what Grimaldi had been told. He considered what the Orlov servant had said along with the unsavory gossip he knew about the daimyo of Orlov.

Well then. He would inform Master Charlton of the contents before he spoke to Albion. Perhaps Master Charlton would do something to rescue his sister. Perhaps my lord Zachery would have arrived by then and taken charge. Then he would not have to speak to Albion any more than the minimum necessary.

* * *

Iolanthe cautiously unlocked and opened the heavy door. The sot would never be this quiet so it was probably safe. He couldn’t stop himself from making sure everyone within earshot knew what he was doing.

She was rewarded with the butler, Matusda, alone and nervous, but she still darted a quick glance up and down the hallway to be sure they were alone. It would be just like Rastislav to suddenly change his behavior to cause more problems.

Then Matusda told her about the sot’s change of plans.

“Oh dear,” Iolanthe said. “Are you quite sure?”

“Yes, Miss Iolanthe,” Matusda murmured. “The daimyo was proud of his cleverness and boasted of it to me. I thought you should know at once.”

“Has my brother returned yet?”

“No, Miss Iolanthe.”

“Inform me at once when he returns.” She sent a quick prayer to the Orlov ancestors: please, please let Dimitri return quickly from whatever he’s wasting time on.

“Yes, Miss Iolanthe.”

“Thank you. You may go.”

She closed the heavy door behind her and relocked it. She limped back to her chair and sat down, anxiously twisting her hands one around the other.

“A problem, Miss Iolanthe?” Nelly asked.

“Yes. Leave me so I can think.”

Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear. Time was about to run out, for Yilanda DelFino and for her.

Bile rose and flooded her mouth. She couldn’t do it. No matter what Yilanda DelFino’s letter implied about her lack of morals, today was her eighteenth birthday. She couldn’t be a hardened adventuress like Mrs. Pondicherry, not at her age. Worse, she might be fertile, either with the daimyo or with some lover. Rastislav’s line would be continued and the demesne would continue down the path of ruin.

But if Yilanda DelFino married the sot, then Charlton DelFino would marry her, Iolanthe. She could escape Orlov. She’d be free.

She would be free to watch the family descend still further into despair and ruin. What would happen to Dimitri? To papa? To uncle Ljubo, auntie Quintana, their young sons? All her Orlov relatives, those who supported Rastislav and those who didn’t.

And the staff of Orlov castle and all the Orlov serfs laboring in the Orlov fields. Didn’t they deserve better?

She couldn’t do it. She had to speak to Charlton DelFino and tell him the truth of what Rastislav would do to his sister. Even if it meant she’d remain trapped in Orlov forever. The sot would be forced to find another well-bred, well-connected young bride, giving everyone else time to find another solution. Why, oh why was no one else working harder to stop this marriage? Everyone knew the hell that would rain down on Orlov if the sot got his heir.

Dimitri was supposed to bring her to the cathedral for the wedding of the sot and the unlucky DelFino girl, but she couldn’t wait for his return. She needed to speak with Charlton right away and she’d stop the wedding. Both weddings. Charlton’s mother might die, but if Rastislav married his sister, still more people would suffer.

She would suffer and not just because she couldn’t escape Orlov. If she took the blame, she might be able to save papa, Dimitri, her other relatives. The sot would be happy to heap blame upon her, allowing them to escape.

The only silver lining Iolanthe could see was that no Orlov coin would be squandered on repaying Albion DelFino’s gambling debts as a bride price for his daughter.

“Nelly?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“The daimyo has decided to marry earlier than scheduled. Pack my things at once.”

Nelly looked anxious, then her face cleared and she said, “for your journey to DelFino after your own marriage?”

“Something like that,” Iolanthe replied.

* * *

Lannie counted the birds on the ceiling again. The number remained the same. The conclusion she had reached remained the same. She had to save herself, steal some of the Pearls of Orlov although how she would manage that she didn’t know, escape the wrath of the Orlov family, and save mama. No one else would help. Some birthday this was turning out to be, although it was certainly memorable.

She was no longer sure she could rely on Walter. He wouldn’t say anything to her about his plans and if she had learned anything from Ulla it was that you had to be clear in your instructions. Otherwise, mistakes were made and situations were misinterpreted. It was also worrying that Walter had lied about Charlton and the ditch and the peasants.

Was it worth begging Charlton again? He had implied he would help. Maybe. If he could. But mama came first and then all the peasants in their corner of DelFino. She was further down the list.

Ulla would tattle. Ulla knew where her duty to DelFino lay and it wasn’t with helping Lannie escape an arranged marriage to the daimyo of Orlov; one that would ensure DelFino access to markets all the way to Easternmost.

Daddy had made his choice crystal clear.

Lannie rolled over in the bed. There was a vase of mixed flowers on the side table, not nearly as well arranged as mama would have done. She herself could have done a better job. The daisies in particular were misplaced, all in a bunch as though someone had jammed them in, trying to fill a hole in the arrangement. Lannie groaned. Why was she worried about flowers? However, it was a distraction from her predicament.

She climbed out of the bed, pulled the drapes back so she could see better, and studied the arrangement.

Daisies. Why were daisies sticking in her mind? Mama had wanted her to wear her enameled daisy earrings from when she had been eighteen. Lannie shuffled the flowers around until they became an arrangement and not random flowers jammed in a vase.

Daisies. She thought she knew what the daisy earrings looked like although it had been months since she had last seen them, exploring the jewelry box with mama.

Ulla kept telling her she didn’t think and here she was wasting precious time thinking about daisies. She pulled a daisy out of the vase and studied it. She was thinking about daisies because the daisy was reminding her of something, something that was important. Something about mama.

Then it came to her.

Lannie shoved the daisy back into the vase with numb hands and stumbled back to the bed and flopped down on it.

Mistress Vaughn, the apothecary, had worn enameled daisy earrings when she and Ulla had visited her. Daisy earrings had to be common. They were a common, cheerful flower and how many different ways could you make a daisy design anyway? They all had white petals surrounding a sunny yellow center. Like mama’s lost earrings.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t face the conclusion forcing itself into her brain.

Daddy had gotten the tisanes from Mistress Vaughn.

Mistress Vaughn was very, very skilled, based on her own direct observations. Ulla had agreed and she wasn’t easily impressed.

The tisanes weren’t working for mama, even though Mistress Vaughn had diagnosed villagers with ease. From listening to the conversations, they thought highly of her skills.

Mistress Vaughn was wearing daisy earrings, not something a peasant could typically afford. Was she skilled enough to earn the coin needed to buy them herself? Had she been given them by her dead husband?

Or had daddy given Mistress Vaughn the daisy earrings?

Was Mistress Vaughn deliberately harming mama with bad tisanes?

Did daddy know? Did he agree? Was it his plan?

Lannie knew she couldn’t ask him. Her father was a skilled liar. Could she believe him if he said it was her imagination running away with her? That Mistress Vaughn would never harm a patient? That he, Albion DelFino, would never cheat on her dear mama? She would want to believe him.

But that didn’t mean what he said was true.

Should she tell Charlton her suspicions? He would think she was lying, trying to escape her arranged marriage to the daimyo of Orlov. So would Walter and Ulla.

She had never felt so alone.

Why would daddy do such a thing to mama? He loved her. That was plain enough. Why would Mistress Vaughn deliberately concoct bad tisanes for mama? The risk to her was huge if it were discovered; poisoning the lady of the manor and a member of the DelFino family was a hanging offense. What was the reward for Mistress Vaughn?

There had to be reasons.

Someone pounded on the door and then threw it open with a crash.

“Yilanda!” Albion declaimed. “Arise! The daimyo of Orlov has decided not to wait. He wishes to marry you at once!”

“ _No_!” she screamed back. “I _won’t_!”

* * *

No one came to her rescue.

Ulla was still wandering the streets of Barsoom. It was a darn good question as to how trousseau shopping would help Lannie or mama as she had claimed.

Zachery had yet to arrive, although he wasn’t going to be any help. The daimyo wanted access to markets all the way to Easternmost and if Lannie had to be sacrificed? Sacrifices for the greater good of DelFino were worth any amount of grief to a daughter who had to marry out and who didn’t have a dowry to cushion her landing.

Charlton, bruised and with damp hair, looked grim but only said not to worry and that mama would be saved.

Walter, equally damp but far more beaten up, looked grim and told her not to worry.

Dimitri Orlov, a grim, bruised and damp stranger, said not to worry and that she would love Orlov and then left hurriedly on errands of his own.

The servants, led by Grimaldi, radiated disapproval but they did even less to help. Other than her floods of tears, Lannie stood like a doll while the maids hurriedly dressed her in a frilly, lacy, poufy creampuff of a ballgown in unflattering, shimmery pale-yellow. It was exactly what a damsel wore when being tied to railroad tracks but no hero was in sight, waiting to rescue her. At least she was able to keep them from covering her face with cosmetics; her sobbing made it impossible.

She wept quietly during the journey to the cathedral, half-listening to Albion quiz Charlton and Walter about why they had indulged themselves in fisticuffs on such an important day. They ignored him, staring sullenly everywhere but at Albion. And her. Not getting a response to his pointed questions, Albion launched into a lecture about the need to consider other people’s feelings instead of paying attention only to their own selfish amusements.

That got a response.

“I did,” Charlton spoke with raw annoyance. “Walter was getting beaten up by some stablehand. Dimitri and I rescued him.”

“You did not. I was holding my own,” Walter retorted.

“You were not and we did. That stablehand was mopping the ground with you and him with that silly braid down to his ass flopping around and getting in the way.”

Momentarily distracted, Lannie stopped crying. So that’s why Walter looked so beaten up and Charlton didn’t.

“A stablehand had a braid down to his ass?”

“Yep,” Charlton and Walter agreed, momentarily united.

“I think he had beads woven into his hair,” Walter added. “And a beard. Like a Wildside savage.”

“Sure did,” Charlton said. He snickered. “A handicap like that braid and he was still pounding Walter into paste.”

“He was not.”

“He was too.”

“That’s enough!” Albion snapped. “Since you two are unable to make sparkling conversation on our dear Yilanda’s wedding day, you should both shut up and watch the scenery.”

“Fine.”

“Okay by me.”

“I’m going to be raped and beaten to death and nobody cares at all,” Lannie said and burst into fresh, loud sobs. She glared accusingly at Charlton through her hiccupping wails. “You rescue Walter and not your own sister!”

Charlton looked away. So did Walter.

Lannie covered her face with a handkerchief, ostensibly to hide her face and sop up tears. She had to rescue herself. Bringing up Mistress Vaughn and the tisanes wouldn’t help; daddy would dismiss her fears as mad lies. Worse, it might make him suspicious.

It was becoming increasingly clear that Walter wasn’t going to help her as he had promised. The help he had already given her would make things worse with the daimyo of Orlov. She shuddered, thinking of the letter he had written and she had copied. In fact, Walter was becoming so open in his dislike of Charlton that he might not help her at all; simply because she was Charlton’s sister.

Now that was an interesting thought. Why did Walter dislike Charlton? Everyone knew Charlton was the black sheep of the DelFinos whereas Walter was one of its golden princes. His father, Zachery, was the daimyo. You didn’t get higher up the food chain than that.

She was getting distracted again. None of that mattered. Then she remembered. What did matter was that Walter, however useless he was turning out to be, had done one thing right.

He had instructed her to insist on an hour of quiet, solitary prayer in the cathedral. Presumably that hour was to give him time and privacy for his own rescue attempt. He also hadn’t said anything about how she’d actually swipe a few of the Pearls of Orlov during her escape.

Lannie stilled, then began making snuffling noises into the handkerchief to camouflage her thoughts. An hour was a long time. Ulla pontificated all the time on how much could be done in five minutes if the worker was focused. An hour. All alone. No interruptions. Lannie glanced down at the frilly, lacy, poufy creampuff of a gown she was wearing. She had no idea who selected it. It wasn’t something she would have ever chosen; its style was overblown and its shimmering pale-yellow color emphasized her own less than perfect emerald skin, making it even yellower. It was also enormous. The multiple, tiered skirts filled up the entire hired carriage, foaming around her legs, forcing daddy to press himself into the corner on their side and Charlton and Walter to squeeze into their respective corners to keep from trampling the hems. Whatever she did, she’d have to ditch the gown. It was far too conspicuous

But whatever she did to rescue herself, she had to have that hour in which to work. An hour could give her a head start.

“Daddy!” Lannie shrieked loudly enough to make the horses (a flashy, mediocre pair she’d never seen before) turn their heads and slow their inelegant trot even more.

“I am not stopping the carriage, Yilanda,” Albion vowed. “So don’t ask.”

“I’m not going to, daddy,” Lannie snarled. “You’re not a mind reader so quit trying to be one.”

“Good one, Lannie,” Charlton said.

“Shut up, big brother,” Lannie said. “Shut up all of you. I asked for this cathedral but I also asked for an hour of private reflection. Give me that hour and, and, and,” she snuffled again into her handkerchief “I’ll try to not make such a fuss when I marry that evil, abusive geezer daimyo.”

Albion smiled warmly at her. “My darling little girl. You’re seeing reason at last. Your mama would be so proud of you. You’ll be the daimyah of Orlov.”

“Yes, I will. And daddy?” Lannie asked sweetly. “If you don’t insist I get my hour, then don’t ask my future husband for money. I’ll tell him not to give you even a bent copper penny.”

Albion turned away, scowling.

Charlton and Walter both beamed in approval.

“Not you two either,” Lannie added and was rewarded when her brother and her cousin both turned to stare at the passing traffic on the road leading to the cathedral.

She lifted the sodden handkerchief to her face, concealing her pride; she had thought for herself, made a demand, made her case for her demand, and gotten what she wanted. Now she had to figure out what to do with that precious, golden hour.

She glanced sideways at Walter and caught an odd, fleeting expression. Was he pleased she had gotten her hour so he could help save her? Or was it for some other reason?

* * *

“ _What_?!” Ulla screeched. “They left for the cathedral?”

“Yes, Miss Ulla,” Grimaldi replied. “The daimyo has yet to arrive and Albion insisted on honoring the daimyo of Orlov’s demand to have Miss Yilanda delivered to him at once.”

“When?”

“About half an hour ago.”

“Oh Gods,” Ulla said and then swore like a stablehand, making Grimaldi blanch. “He must owe even more money than I thought!”

She looked down at her outfit, somewhat worse for wear from her day’s activities. She was not dressed appropriately for a wedding. Too bad.

“When my lord Zachery arrives, send him to the cathedral at once. Tell the daimyo it is life and death. I’m going there now.”

She ran down the steps of the townhouse, elbowed pedestrians out of her way on the sidewalk and threw herself into the carriage, shouting directions to the coachman.

* * *

“ _What_?” Dimitri demanded of Matusda.

“The daimyo and Miss Iolanthe left for the cathedral. He intends to wed Miss DelFino within the hour,” the butler answered.

Dimitri thought of Iolanthe trapped in a carriage with the sot. He would be abusive and she would be miserable. She would avoid it if she could come up with a palatable reason for the daimyo.

“Separate carriages?”

“Yes, Master Dimitri. Miss Iolanthe asked as she did not wish to inconvenience the daimyo in any way as he prepared himself to wed Miss DelFino. Do you wish another carriage made ready for you, sir?”

“No. I’ll run. It’s faster.”

“Sir? Wait!”

“What is it now!”

“The daimyo,” the butler looked uncomfortable; squirming rather than standing rigid as he should have. “The daimyo insisted on taking the closed carriage. He boasted that he wouldn’t wait to arrive home with his bride before he, uh, consummated the marriage.”

Dimitri stared at Matusda in horror. “He said that?”

“He was far cruder. He wants an heir right away so his line can continue to rule Orlov for another ten generations.” The butler’s eyes were terrified. He had served Orlov for decades, watching it decline with each passing year, as his father had before him, and his grandfather.

“Oh Gods and all our ancestors!”

Dimitri tore down the steps and bolted down the street in a steady, distance-devouring pace. How much time did he have left? Everything was falling apart. He had to find Charlton. Poor Lannie. And what would happen to Iolanthe?

* * *

“Excuse me? A matter of life and death?” Zachery demanded.

“Yes, my lord,” Grimaldi replied. “Miss Ulla insisted.”

“No other family members have arrived yet?”

“No sir.” Grimaldi pursed his lips in open disapproval. “I have kept a tally. Delays due to traffic, due to weather, due to illness, due to forgotten prior engagements, due to accidents with vehicles and without, due to unexpected yet critical meetings, due to emergencies; all the usual reasons to show a decided lack of enthusiasm.”

Zachery swore under his breath. He knew Albion needed money fast to repay his gambling debts but this indicated Albion was far deeper in the hole than he suspected. Still, Yilanda would become the daimyah and he could approach Orlov with his plans for joint business ventures in the east.

On the other hand, this did not bode well for getting access to the Pearls of Orlov. He had recently heard disquieting rumors about their true nature and needed to see them for himself. A hasty wedding could prevent his eyewitness appraisal. If the Pearls of Orlov were not as they were reported to be, what other problems did Orlov have that he knew nothing about? Albion had been so hasty that the DelFino lawyers hadn’t had enough time to draw up proper, thorough contracts. They were still in the negotiating stages with Orlov, which was deeply concerning. But Albion had insisted on speed rather than due diligence.

The family’s lack of support for the marriage was worrying as well. Everyone should have arrived to witness Yilanda become the daimyah of Orlov without waiting thirty years for the privilege. Was there that much distaste for Albion and his branch of the family?

Or was this a subtle way of showing disrespect to him? As the daimyo, he had approved of the match. Every fourth year during the winter solstice, the DelFino family chose its daimyo for the next four years. He expected to be reelected by a wide margin. Zachery suddenly felt the sand shifting beneath his feet, opening up a chasm.

* * *

“I’m leaving as soon as I’m finished with those stalls,” Fen said. He was hurting all over and his left eye was nearly swollen shut. He was lucky he hadn’t gotten his nose broken; it still felt straight under the swelling.

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll have Chuck muck them out.”

“I said I would and I will. I always keep my word.”

“Thank you, Fen,” the livery stable owner said. “You’re a good lad. You saved my little girl.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Cardozo,” Fen replied. “But I wouldn’t trust the word of either of those DelFinos.”

Mr. Cardozo snorted. “No. Too risky. And you still need to get out of Barsoom quick. Don’t stop and sightsee.”

Fen laughed grimly. “No worries on that score. I worked out a route north over the last few days. I’ll be plenty faster getting out than when I came riding into the city.”

* * *

Lannie channeled Ulla and stared both her father and the daimyo of Orlov down.

“I want my hour,” she demanded. “You both promised. Are you gentlemen or are you low-caste liars? If I don’t get my hour, I’ll make a scene in front of the priest at the altar that will be talked about for the next hundred years. Do you want that humiliation?”

“Give Lannie her hour, dad,” Charlton said coldly. “She agreed to this fiasco like I did so the least you can do is honor your own word.”

Rastislav eyed his prospective bride. Yilanda Ranaglia DelFino was nowhere near as beautiful as he remembered Constance Ranaglia to be. She was pretty enough, but no more so than average. Her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were bloodshot, which was odd, considering how eager she was to marry him. The poufy, frilly, lacy creampuff of a gown she wore made it impossible for him to get a good idea of her figure; the multiple, floor-length tiered layers of petticoats and the huge puffed sleeves defeated him. The gown’s color gave her skin a distinctly golden tinge, one that could be considered low-caste.

Now that he was seeing her in person, he was no longer in such a hurry. He could afford to be magnanimous.

“Give the girl her hour. As soon as the wedding is over, I will pay you your bride price.”

No,” Albion protested. “I want my money now.”

“You are disgusting,” Lannie said. “Why don’t you just put me up on an auction block like a prize cow?”

“Lannie,” Walter said. “The cathedral has a private chapel waiting for you, even though we’re hours and hours early.”

Lannie threw him a look of gratitude. “I’m going to go pray. I get one full hour and not a minute less.”

“Agreed,” Charlton said.

“Same here,” Walter said.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Albion said. “You always did want your own way.”

Rastislav leered at Lannie. She had spirit. “You’ll be mine very soon. I’ll teach you everything you asked for in your letter.”

Lannie had to force herself to hold still with her head held high. She wanted to cringe and scream. Rastislav wasn’t just old; dissipation had left its marks everywhere. From the moment she had seen him, she had wanted to run and run and run, as far away and as fast as possible. The thought of that awful geezer putting his hands on her was suddenly real in a way it had not been before. Before, she only had her imagination. The reality of the daimyo of Orlov was much worse.

She glanced around in a frenzy, hoping to spot something to slow down the march of events. Then she noticed that the daimyo of Orlov’s hovering, burly servant was carrying a beautifully carved and locked jewelry chest.

“Are those the Pearls of Orlov?” Lannie demanded. “If they are, then I want to put them on right now and not wait until after the wedding.”

“No,” Rastislav said. “I will adorn you with them after we are wed.”

“Then why did you bother bringing them here to the cathedral if I can’t wear them until after we return to the Orlov townhouse?” Lannie asked. Anything to slow down time.

“The Pearls will ensure fertility,” Rastislav said and openly ogled Lannie’s modest bosom, concealed under far too much cheap lace. He thought of the closed carriage, ensuring privacy on the drive back to the Orlov townhouse. He’d rip that hideous dress off as soon as the doors were closed. They would both enjoy him bringing her to heel.

Lannie stepped back from his leer, wishing she could run away. “Then I should put them on at once to give them more time to work.”

“That’s true,” Walter said, inserting himself into the conversation. “I know you want many strong sons. If the Pearls ensure fertility” — he wanted to snicker over the ridiculous superstition but restrained himself — “then Lannie should wear them from this moment on.”

“Indeed,” Albion added. “Wearing the Pearls of Orlov will help my Yilanda appreciate what a great honor she is being given by her marriage to you.”

“Those are good points,” Rastislav said slowly. He thought of Madame Orlov ranting in his dreams. He thought of three barren wives, other than that useless stillborn daughter. “I want many strong sons with Yilanda.”

“I should think so,” Walter said urbanely. “Did you know that I’m the daimyo’s son? Yet I will never become the daimyo as my father has because DelFino does not practice primogeniture. If you want your own flesh and blood to rule Orlov, you have to father a son.” He gave Rastislav a good looking over. “I don’t mean to be crude but you won’t live forever.”

Rastislav, who had been getting angry at Walter’s presumptuousness, paled with fear.

He snapped his fingers and summoned the servant forward.

He unlocked the chest and said as he opened it, “Yilanda. Behold the Pearls of Orlov.”

The Pearls were heaped on plush black velvet to better show off their sumptuous, glowing, luminescent beauty. They filled the chest, glorious opulence beyond the dreams of avarice.

Lannie couldn’t stop herself and leaned over, despite having to get closer to Rastislav.

“They’re gorgeous,” she breathed out. “I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous before. They look like they’re made of stars.” Her mouth hung open and her eyes were full of otherworldly pearls.

Albion leaned over, his face the image of greed and covetousness. He had to force his hands to his sides and not into the chest to snatch up the Pearls. They were the wealth of Olde Earthe’s vast and mysterious oceans carried across the vastness of the solar system to Mars, a world whose oceans were made of grass.

Walter stared, mesmerized. “They are far more beautiful than I believed possible. Like the Milky Way compressed into spheres I could hold, like clouds lit from behind with the rising sun, like white swans in the afternoon, like snow in the moonlight.”

Charlton stared too. He said slowly, “beautiful is right. I could sell them, rethatch and rebuild every single peasant’s cottage in all of DelFino, every barn, rebuild all the roads, and still have heaps of money left over.”

“You have no soul, Charlton,” Albion said absently. If he possessed the Pearls, he could do whatever he wanted until the end of time. People would pay to see them. He could keep them forever and never part with a single Pearl.

“You have the soul of a peasant, Charlton,” Walter said. He could leave DelFino and purchase a vast estate of his own with the Pearls. No one would ever tell him ‘no’ again. He’d keep a few for himself, the finest ones. He had never seen such opulent wealth concentrated in such a small chest. It should be his, this chest heaped with exquisite Pearls, and not that dissipated roué who could not possibly appreciate their glorious beauty.

“Ooooh,” Lannie murmured, entranced. She had never seen anything so exquisite. Ropes of pearls, bracelets of pearls, a collar of pearls, pearls formed into a headdress, pearls resembling clusters of grapes made into earrings, and pearl brooches to fill in any gaps. Only rings were missing. Each piece of jewelry sparkled with tiny diamonds, carefully placed to accentuate the loveliness of the Pearls or tiny leaves of jade to better set off their lustrous glow. Mama owned a single pair of pearl earrings, shipped from Olde Earthe as every real pearl was, but they didn’t sing to her soul like these Pearls did.

But Charlton was right. The wealth generated by selling the Pearls of Orlov would provide decades of comfort to thousands of people.

“For you, my bride,” Rastislav said. He smiled, showing yellowed teeth. “You will wear the Pearls of Orlov and bear me an army of sons. Let me adorn you with them, you will have your hour, we will be wed, and then you will be mine forever.”

* * *

From behind a screen, Iolanthe watched in silent horror, one hand to her mouth, the other clutching her cane so she did not fall from the shock. The sot had done it. He had brought the true Pearls with him to Barsoom, not one of the replica sets as he had sworn he would to papa and uncle Ljubo. He had endangered the entire demesne to chase a superstitious dream of sons. She silently watched Rastislav drape the Pearls of Orlov over Yilanda DelFino as a fertility charm. He would rape that unlucky girl in the closed carriage after the wedding as they drove through the streets of Barsoom back to the Orlov townhouse.

The DelFino girl was nothing like what she had imagined. She looked younger than eighteen, her eyes red from crying and her face stained with tear-tracks. She was wearing the most unfortunate, overblown gown, one that did nothing to emphasize her youthful freshness. The color made her skin look yellower than it was. Nor was she the stunning beauty everyone thought she would be. She had not inherited Constance Ranaglia’s exquisite loveliness. Yilanda DelFino was pretty enough, but she was nothing out of the ordinary.

She was also not a hardened adventuress like Mrs. Pondicherry. Even from behind the screen, Iolanthe could see how Yilanda DelFino cringed at the touch of the sot’s fingers as he draped the Pearls across her bosom, attached the multi-stranded collar around her neck, slid the earring wires through her ears, placed bracelets on each arm, pinned the brooches to her dress, and crowned her with the pearl headdress. No adventuress would notice the sot’s thick fingers, his sour breath, his grossness, when he draped her with the luminescent Pearls of Orlov. No adventuress would have sobbed as she so obviously had.

Her brother, Charlton DelFino, looked like a sullen thug, dark and chunky with a heavy brow and jaw and workman’s hands dusted with dark hair. He bore little resemblance to Walter DelFino, a slim, handsome blond prince or so Iolanthe assumed, imagining him without the bruises and swelling. Walter looked like he’d been in a fight with Charlton and lost. He moved stiffly. Interestingly, unlike Walter, each time the sot dragged his hands across Yilanda DelFino’s body as he adorned her in Pearls, Charlton’s face contorted with anger. He didn’t like what he saw. As though he knew what the sot was like.

Walter DelFino’s face had the covetousness Iolanthe associated with everyone outside the Orlov family who saw the Pearls. He wanted them for himself. So did the unlucky DelFino girl’s father, Albion. Father and cousin had stopped seeing Yilanda DelFino or her open misery. The Pearls filled their eyes, filled their brains, filled their hearts until all they knew was their overwhelming need to possess the Pearls of Orlov. The more complete the set of Pearls were, the stronger the effect. Iolanthe rapidly took inventory of what the unlucky DelFino girl was wearing. Rastislav had brought most of the Pearls of Orlov. They were overwhelming.

It was the rare person who saw them and remained unaffected enough to recognize how they could be used. Charlton DelFino thought of his peasants and not of their luminescent beauty. As he watched the sot drape Yilanda in the Pearls of Orlov, his face reflected her distress. He ignored their priceless value in favor of his sister.

Perhaps Dimitri was right when he insisted that Charlton DelFino was nothing like his worthless father.

* * *

“There, my bride,” Rastislav said. His voice broke the spell the Pearls of Orlov cast. “You may have your hour. Alone.” The sot glared at Walter who was already reaching for Yilanda’s hands to lead her away to the small, private chapel room she had demanded.

“I,” Walter began. He blinked and dragged his eyes away from the Pearls. He could slip that bracelet off Lannie’s wrist and into his pocket. It was so close and hung loosely over her hand. It sang to him. He wanted those Pearls. He _needed_ the Pearls.

“I will lead my bride-to-be to the chapel. I will lock the door. You think I will risk my demesne so a DelFino princeling might steal a Pearl or two?” Rastislav growled. He stepped up to Walter, eyed Walter’s bruised face and noted with pleasure how Walter — considerably younger and fitter — stepped back instead of challenging him. “I should pound you into paste for even thinking of stealing the Pearls of Orlov.”

“I would never do such a thing,” Walter lied stoutly. “I’m concerned only about my cousin’s wellbeing.”

“I want to go to the chapel right now,” Lannie said. She had been struggling to hold back screaming tears each time the daimyo of Orlov touched her, as he adorned her with pearls. His fingers had lingered, groping and prodding far more than needed to put on jewelry.

“You are eager,” Rastislav said with approval. “Just as your letter said you would be.”

“Yes,” Lannie gasped. “Yes.” Anything to get away behind a closed door.

Charlton looked openly puzzled. Iolanthe, watching him closely from behind the screen realized he didn’t know about his sister’s letter. And from the flash of fear on his sister’s face, she wasn’t eager. Not at all. She had been sobbing for hours as evidenced by her reddened eyes. Then why had she sent such a pornographic letter, written expressly to incite lust in the heart and groin of its reader?

She had to stop the wedding. Yilanda DelFino was nothing like Iolanthe expected. Based on the unlucky DelFino girl’s trembling and terrified expression, she was not an adventuress. She wouldn’t take an army of lovers like Naomi Khan would, to ensure conception. She was still a virgin and Rastislav would rape her in the closed carriage.

Iolanthe watched Rastislav lead Yilanda by the hand to the chapel door, Walter standing next to it with a stony expression. Charlton looked furious, thunderclouds mounting to the heavens and filling the sky from horizon to horizon, but he did nothing to stop the sot. He clenched and unclenched his fists as though that would accomplish something. Albion looked pleased as he watched his daughter being sold, probably counting Orlov coin and wondering how lucky he would get at the tables.

Where was Dimitri? She needed his support for what she had to do.

The door closed behind Yilanda, the sot locked it and pocketed the key, and Iolanthe made herself step forward from behind the screen.

* * *

Lannie heard the chapel door close behind her and the key turn in the lock. She was alone. She tottered from the door to the far wall in her wildly impractical shoes; the room was tiny so it was only a few steps. She desperately needed those steps to get further away from the daimyo of Orlov. She could still feel his groping fingers as he draped her in the Pearls of Orlov.

She had to escape, but how? She wanted to scream and shake and sob, but she didn’t have time. Or rather, she had an hour and she had to make every second count. If she got her hour. The daimyo’s eyes had gleamed with lust as he wrapped the collar around her neck. He had whispered the lewdest suggestions into her ears as he removed mama’s opals and slid the earring wires through, he had pinched and poked and she wanted to vomit all over the ugly dress and the luminously beautiful Pearls of Orlov.

But she couldn’t. He might change his mind and return early. What was the daimyo of Orlov going to do while she supposedly prayed? Chat with her father about DelFino expanding into the markets of Easternmost? No, he might return early so she had to get moving. _He_ didn’t want to wait one minute longer than he had to.

Lannie made herself stop, forcing panic back into a little box. She had to think. What would Ulla do? She looked all around the small room, seeing if there was another exit. And what could she do about the ridiculous, conspicuous gown she was wearing?


	16. Ugly, crippled, and penniless, just like Albion promised

Iolanthe stepped out from behind the screen. She was dressed in her best; a figure-flattering gown in a color that enhanced her skin and hair. Her cane was chosen to blend in so it was less noticeable, but it was carefully shaped and carved, a piece of sculpture in its own right. Overall, she wore her sheerest veil; scalloped pearlescent gossamer edged in pearls to give it just enough weight to remain in place while floating around her head like a nimbus of pearly light. It was cut to accentuate her dark brown eyes, heavily fringed with thick eyelashes. She had often thought her eyes were her best feature, followed by her thick, dark hair. The pearls edging the eye openings on the veil emphasized her eyes even more.

She would never be pretty but she could be well-groomed at all times, even elegant. Beautiful, flattering, well-fitted clothing felt like armor; a shield against unfriendly eyes.

Today, she felt as though she wore rags suitable for swineherds.

Rastislav noticed first.

“The cripple crawls out of her hole,” he said.

Albion was far more polished. He smiled charmingly, as if he was truly happy to see her and not because she was the living promise of Orlov coin to pay his gambling debts, and, as an afterthought, pay for his wife’s medical care.

“Ah, the delightful Iolanthe, I presume. Charlton, come meet your bride-to-be.” He pranced forward; his hands outstretched as if asking her to dance.

She curtsied graciously, using her cane as support. Iolanthe had practiced for many long hours to remain smooth and fluid. It didn’t come naturally and she was always afraid of losing her balance and falling. Albion, she noticed, was still a handsome figure of a man especially when compared to Rastislav’s raddled face and paunchy body. That is, until you considered how cheerfully he was selling his miserable, frightened daughter to the sot. Other people’s feelings meant nothing to him when his own comfort was at stake. His pleasantries were more of the same; a façade with about the same value as a set of fake pearls. Good fakes, even expensive ones. But still fake.

Charlton and Walter had both been staring at the locked door to the chapel, the door that concealed and trapped the unlucky DelFino girl. They turned together.

Charlton’s face didn’t change. He remained sullen and angry, like a snared badger waiting for a chance at escape from the trap.

Walter grinned widely as he looked her over.

“Gleesh, Charlton,” he said. “Your bride-to-be. Ugly, crippled, and penniless, just like Albion promised. See, your dad can be truthful. She’s probably stupid too.”

Charlton’s face darkened even more.

Iolanthe forced out a courteous smile. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before from the sot and now she knew the full measure of Walter DelFino’s character.

“Walter,” Charlton said pleasantly. “Shut up.” He clenched his fist, the one he had been making and unmaking for as long as Iolanthe had been watching, turned, and slammed it into Walter’s nose.

Walter crumpled to the floor, his nose streaming blood like a faucet. He sputtered, whimpered, and spat, but didn’t try to regain his feet and fight back. He still hurt everywhere, so he concentrated on locating a handkerchief for his nose while working out plots for revenge, later, when Charlton might have forgotten the incident. He knew better than to say anything more, and he couldn’t understand why he’d opened his fool mouth in the first place, but my Gods, Iolanthe Orlov was plain and lame and her exquisitely well-made, albeit provincial clothes did little to hide those facts. No wonder she wore a veil. The wonder was that it wasn’t opaque.

Charlton turned back to Iolanthe, ignoring Walter not only as if he was no longer a threat but as if he no longer existed. “Forgive my cousin. He’s an ass.”

“Yes, of course,” she answered, blinking in dismay. Oh dear. What was Dimitri thinking? Perhaps it was for the best Charlton DelFino would refuse her as soon as she said her piece.

She smiled at him, wishing she meant it, and forced the words out that would destroy her future. She couldn’t stop shaking as she spoke.

“Charlton, don’t let your sister marry Rastislav. He’ll rape her, beat her, and eventually, when he tires of her, he’ll murder her like his last wife.”

Oddly, Charlton didn’t look surprised or upset at her statement. However, other people did.

“How dare you interfere!” Albion roared, with the sot right behind him, face contorted with fury.

“I will break you into wet bones!” the sot threatened.

“Sure about that?” Charlton asked Rastislav contemptuously, bared his teeth, and smacked his fist into his palm. “You’re talking about my future wife. And dad? Shut. Up.”

* * *

Dimitri pounded down the street, finally sighting the cathedral. He was getting tired, but as he predicted, running had been faster than waiting around for the Orlov grooms to ready a carriage for him, or a horse. He wished for a rickshaw to appear, or a hansom cab. But no, when he desperately needed something fast and right now, all such conveyances disappeared from the streets of Barsoom.

Someone else was in a tearing hurry. A carriage emblazoned with the DelFino logo galloped past him, the horses being driven far too fast for a crowded city street. A disheveled, blonde harpy rode in it, waving her hands madly and screeching directions to the coachman to run over pedestrians if they got in her way.

The blonde harpy was headed to the cathedral.

Interesting. Could it be Ulla DelFino? Charlton had mentioned her.

* * *

Ulla screamed at her coachman to whip up the horses, and never mind the other wagons, carriages, trolleys, hansom cabs, rickshaws, bicycles, and pedestrians in the way. It took forever to thread through the traffic and reach the cathedral, yet she knew she couldn’t have gone faster if she’d run the entire distance and it would have wasted too much time to have the DelFino grooms ready and saddle a riding horse while she changed her impractical dress for a riding habit.

At last, at last, at last, the carriage reached the cathedral steps. She flung herself out of it, not waiting for assistance from the coachman, and promptly tripped over her skirts on the steps, and again at the curb, landing awkwardly, scraping her hands as she tried to save herself.

A gentleman’s hand with buffed, manicured nails, his cuffs edged with torn lace the color of stained teeth, reached down to her, sprawled in the filthy gutter.

“Miss DelFino, I presume. May I help you?” His voice was cultured although with a bit of an eastern accent.

This was her day to embarrass herself in front of men of every class, starting with her coachman, Yair, whatever his rank was, and ending with aristocrats. Too bad.

“Yes, and then get out of my way! I have to save my cousin,” Ulla screeched.

The gentleman took her hand and pulled her to her feet. But he didn’t let go.

She tried to wrench herself free while he spoke rapidly. “I’m Dimitri Orlov. We have interests in common. Your cousin Lannie is marrying my daimyo and my sister is marrying Charlton DelFino.”

Ulla stopped pulling and peered at a sweaty, finely dressed gentleman through the snarled curtain her hair had become. Pearls glinted on his suit. His clothes were oddly damp, as though they had been hurriedly cleaned and pressed and then not given enough time to dry.

“Dimitri Orlov?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you standing around like a fool? I have to save Lannie from her worthless father’s schemes!”

She tore free and bolted up the cathedral steps.

Dimitri followed, huffing and wishing he had found a rickshaw so he wouldn’t be out of breath when he needed to be on guard. Interesting. Ulla DelFino didn’t say anything about the sot or what he would do to Lannie. She had a different reason for stopping the marriage, something Charlton clearly didn’t know.

* * *

Zachery DelFino reached the cathedral at last, where another DelFino carriage waited by the steps. The horses were blowing and stamping while the coachman rubbed them down and called for buckets of water from the cathedral staff.

“Lesten! Where is Miss DelFino?” he called out as he strode past.

The coachman flinched when he recognized the daimyo. “Just gone inside sir. With a young Orlov lord.”

“What? Who?”

“An Orlov prince, my lord.”

“Have any members of _our_ family arrived?”

“None that I noticed, sir. We arrived a few minutes ago. But I don’t believe so.”

Zachery swore under his breath as he raced up the steps and inside. The family was boycotting the wedding. They didn’t want to see Yilanda married off to the daimyo of Orlov, despite the lofty position it gave her along with the long-term trade benefits to DelFino. True, the daimyo of Orlov had moved up the schedule by hours, but even so, plenty of members of DelFino traveled to Barsoom at the drop of a hat. They should have already been in residence at the townhouse, and could easily have left early. But they were not and they did not.

He thought of the upcoming vote at the Winter Solstice for the daimyo’s position and swallowed bile. No one in the family would say anything to his face, but this statement of no confidence was crystal clear. It would be easier to manage the family if they would, damn their eyes, openly state their own misgivings about a course of action, offer useful and helpful suggestions, quit expecting him to do everything right the first time and then, without explanation, punish him when he made a mistake.

He could no longer ignore what the family was saying, even if they hadn’t bothered to use actual words.

* * *

Ulla charged through the cathedral doors and into the empty building, wondering where the hellation everyone was. No one from the family had showed up? No one? When plenty of DelFino family members spent more of their time in Barsoom than they did at home? And where were the priests and their attendants? Hiding in corners rather than participate in sacrilege? There also wasn’t a well-dressed crowd of strangers from Orlov, draped in pearls, to watch their daimyo wed bride number four. It was clear everyone on Mars thought this wedding was a bad idea. The notion gave her strength.

Dimitri Orlov easily kept pace with her. His presence was to be expected; Charlton had said he would be here but like her, he was very late as though the schedule change had caught him flatfooted. Even more oddly, he had a scabbed-over cut in his eyebrow and his knuckles scraped up, as though he had been in a fight. And his fine clothes bore stains and were those hastily mended rips along with his torn lace cuffs?

She skidded around a corner and heard shouting in the otherwise deathly silent cathedral. Aha! That was Charlton’s voice in that cluster of noisy, angry voices. She’d heard it enough in the crumbling manor house in his corner of DelFino, fighting with Lannie.

But she didn’t hear Lannie.

* * *

“Albion, you are selling your daughter to a monster,” Iolanthe proclaimed. “And you, the daimyo who is supposed to govern us wisely, have brought ruin to us all!”

“I have not, you worthless cripple,” Rastislav shouted. “The Pearls guarantee fertility. I need sons!”

“Drunken superstition!” Iolanthe screamed back, eyes blazing. “You and your line have ruined Orlov. Our serfs starve, our family is sunk into despair, and you brought the Pearls here to Barsoom! What if they are lost or stolen?”

Rastislav raised his hand to strike her and Charlton DelFino stepped immediately between them.

“Hands off,” he snarled. “If this is how you treat a member of your family, how will you treat my sister?”

“Charlton,” Albion declaimed. “Your sister must marry if your mother is to receive proper medical care. Your mama will die!”

“No, _she_ _ **won’t!**_ ” Ulla screamed as loudly as she could, shoving her way past Walter. He looked like he’d been in a fight and lost badly, which might explain why he was standing uselessly off to one side, clutching a bloody handkerchief to his streaming nose. “You poisoned Constance!”

“What?” Charlton said, aghast.

“You are a lying harpy, Ulla,” Albion said coldly. “I adore my darling Constance and would never, ever wish harm to come to her.”

This is unexpected, Iolanthe thought. Then she saw Dimitri, right behind Ulla, followed by an out of breath, finely dressed older man who closely resembled — without the signs of a lost fight — Walter DelFino.

“Dad,” Walter said and bowed carefully so as to not aggravate his screaming nose any further. “I’m glad you made it.”

“Zachery, listen.” Albion posed nobly and declaimed “Your representative, Ulla, is making baseless accusations to destroy the marriage prospects of my daughter, Yilanda, and to prevent DelFino from making alliances in the eastern half of the Equator Zone.”

“I. Am. Not.” Ulla replied coldly. “Zachery. Listen to me.”

“I want to hear this too,” Charlton said. He moved closer to Iolanthe, staying between her and Rastislav. She caught his low-voiced question as he moved past Dimitri, “What took you so long?”

Rastislav surprised them by all by laughing harshly. “So, Albion. I know you gamble and lose. Everyone in the Four Hundred knows. You also poison your wife to extract still more Orlov coin?”

Zachery held up his hands for quiet.

“Ulla,” he said. “You had better be able to prove that accusation.”

She smirked at the group. “I can. I took samples of all the tisanes Mistress Vaughn provided to auntie Constance, along with ingredient lists for those tisanes.”

Albion audibly sucked in his breath.

“I sent one set to the DelFino medical staff for analysis. I brought the other set with me to the Research Apothecary at the Great Hospital here in Barsoom. The analyses are still pending, but I have preliminary data: those tisanes were carefully designed to make Constance ill without killing her.”

“Lies!” Albion sputtered.

“Not according to the professor at the Great Hospital’s Research Apothecary laboratories.”

Charlton looked stunned.

“Mistress Vaughn is very skilled. I observed her with patients and how she managed her herb garden and shop,” Ulla stated. “She knows what she’s doing. So why wasn’t she doing more to treat auntie Constance’s illness? Because of you, Albion. She openly and proudly wears enameled daisy earrings; the ones auntie Constance was saving for Lannie. How did she get them, Albion? You gave them to her, that’s how.”

“I did no such thing,” Albion replied, hands splayed across his chest, his face a mask of outraged innocence.

“Are you pretending Mistress Vaughn sneaked into the manor house and stole them? Constance’s lady’s maid told me what the missing earrings looked like. They are identical.”

“I have no idea how Mistress Vaughn got those earrings,” Albion protested.

“Yes, you do,” Ulla retorted. “I’m going to confront Mistress Vaughn and confirm my suspicion as soon as I get back to DelFino.”

“No,” Charlton said. “I will.” Expressions raced across his face: confusion, shock, and then the dawning of clarity and understanding.

“Mistress Vaughn is a skilled apothecary,” Albion protested. “I’m sure she either purchased those earrings or was given them as a gift from some grateful patient or from her husband.”

“No, Albion,” Ulla said. “Earrings like that aren’t sold in destitute, isolated DelFino villages. They’re far too expensive for a village apothecary, no matter how skilled, to afford on their own. Mistress Vaughn doesn’t travel outside of DelFino to a free-city to visit jewelers and neither did her dead husband. What did you promise her in exchange for helping poison Lady Constance?”

Albion started to speak, but Charlton cut him off. He was livid.

“It _was_ you, wasn’t it? This is why you were so calm about mama’s illness. This is why you didn’t want her coming to Barsoom with us. You didn’t want someone else to diagnose her. No one in the village could understand why mama wasn’t getting better when Mistress Vaughn was treating her.” Charlton stomped closer to Albion, making his father retreat in the face of his fury.

“Mama wasn’t getting better because the very skilled Mistress Vaughn, an apothecary who gets business from the surrounding villages because she is better than anyone else in the district, knew exactly what she was doing. She made mama look and act sick and all without mama knowing. Didn’t she, _dad_.”

“I would never do such a thing to your dear mama, Charlton,” Albion insisted.

“Albion, how much money do you owe?” Zachery asked.

“I think he owes a huge amount,” Ulla said.

“He does,” Charlton added, still stunned. He was quickly putting things together from what the village headman had told him. Why hadn’t he seen this before? Why had Ulla seen what he hadn’t?

“None of this matters,” Rastislav said. “What do I care if Albion DelFino chooses to get rid of an unwanted wife with poison? I want my own wife, Yilanda.”

“A fine idea,” Albion said. “My little girl, the daimyah of Orlov! And I expect you to pay me her bride price at once.”

“How much money do you owe?” Rastislav asked with a sneer. “I shall pay much, much less and you will be grateful to get it.” He sneered again at Iolanthe. “You see? I can make a better deal for Orlov.”

Dimitri pushed his way forward, closer to Rastislav. Iolanthe had quickly filled him in, waiting to ask her own questions about why his eyebrow had a bloody scab and why his clothes were stained and damp, and pearls were missing from the Orlov sigil.

“Where are the Pearls of Orlov?” Dimitri demanded.

Rastislav’s eyes darted around the room. “Safe.”

“Where, my lord Rastislav, are they safe?” Dimitri asked, more forcefully. “They are our foundation, the heart and symbol of the demesne, and the surety behind every debt that Orlov owes.”

“They are safe, you whelp. Another word from you and I will punish your sister even more than I’ve already decided upon for her vicious slander. She will never walk again after I am finished beating her. Then your father, your uncle Ljubo, your cousins, and you,” Rastislav warned. “I am the daimyo of Orlov and my word is law.”

Iolanthe wanted to faint. She clung to her cane as it was the only thing keeping her upright. He meant it. He would enjoy it. She had made things worse, endangering papa and Dimitri and the rest of her close relatives. And still worse, the Pearls were in danger. She thought of the way the cathedral was arranged. Could she vanish out a side door into the streets of Barsoom and hobble to the train station, wherever it was? She would have to trade a piece of jewelry for a ticket to Nourz, assuming the ticket agent would accept such a transaction, and then beg sanctuary from Cressida Kahn. She would have to leave the Pearls behind, lost. The demesne would be ruined.

She was letting her imagination run away with her again. Time to take charge.

“My lord Rastislav,” Iolanthe began.

She quailed at his furious, almost insane glare, then took strength from Dimitri’s body pressing up against her back, supporting her.

“You took the Pearls here to Barsoom, against the express wishes of the family. They would have never agreed to such a thing. Miss DelFino is not the daimyah of Orlov, not yet, and this marriage is a sham, as we all know. She must be accepted by the family and wed to you in front of the family on the demesne for the marriage to be legal. Only the daimyah of Orlov may wear the Pearls, as per the specific instructions from Madame Orlov,” Iolanthe said firmly.

“Madame Orlov is long dead,” Rastislav ranted. “Why do we listen to the ravings of a dead woman?”

“You listen to her! You have spoken often enough of her dream visits to you in which she gives you guidance!” Iolanthe yelled back. “Everything we do in Orlov is based on Madame Orlov’s wishes right down to the arrangement of night-blooming cereus and the ridiculous way we choose our daimyo!”

Zachery leaned over and asked Walter, “is the Orlov family insane?”

“It would seem so,” Walter murmured, never taking his eyes off the scene in front of him. He had been able to slow the bleeding but he feared, from the fireball of pain, difficulty breathing, and rapid swelling, that Charlton had broken his nose, damn him.

“We may not get the business deals we hoped for if they are this irrational.” What a good thing he was discovering this out now, before signing a contract.

“True.”

“Were you fighting earlier today?”

“Yes, dad. I’ll tell you later.”

“My lord Zachery,” Ulla inserted herself into the conversation. “Albion tried to poison his wife. I think we of DelFino have our own insanity issues.”

“Not like that bunch,” Zachery replied dryly. “I’ve never heard of such ridiculous, superstitious behavior.”

Dimitri said “my sister is correct, Rastislav. The family will never accept how you have risked the Pearls to chase your mad dreams of sons. You are sterile, or worse, genetically unfit. If you were fit, you would have fathered a son by now. You have not. Accept that this is a judgement from beyond the grave, laid on you by Madame Orlov. Your line is no longer fit, she knows it, and so the rule of Orlov will pass to another branch of the family as it should have two generations ago.”

“Barking mad,” Zachery whispered.

“Yep,” Walter agreed.

“Can’t argue with your interpretation,” Ulla added.

“My little girl is going to become the daimyah of Orlov so it doesn’t matter in the least if all of Orlov is barking mad,” Albion said. “Yilanda will still be the daimyah and wear the Pearls.”

The other three members of DelFino gave him identical looks of open distaste. Albion didn’t quail; instead he posed heroically, hand across his chest, a martyr determined to do the right thing by his beloved family.

Iolanthe realized suddenly that if Dimitri was lecturing Rastislav on his genetic unfitness, then whose body had been pushed protectively against her, supporting her so she wouldn’t fall?

She glanced sideways and saw Charlton DelFino. He smiled briefly back at her. “I won’t let the sot hurt you,” he whispered.

How did he know the family name for Rastislav? “What about the sot hurting your sister?” Iolanthe whispered back.

“Dimitri and I have a plan. Trust us.”

A plan? Dimitri planning anything that had a prayer of working? She did the planning in the family. Iolanthe thought of Rastislav hurriedly revising the marriage’s time and the closed carriage for the ride back to the Orlov townhouse.

“The sot changed _his_ plans,” she whispered back. “Have you and Dimitri adjusted _your_ plans to prevent what he will do to your sister inside a closed carriage?”

Charlton looked uneasy and frowned.

“This is all very informative and exciting,” Ulla screeched, drawing all eyes back to her. What was wrong with these people? Did nobody ever listen to her, no matter what she had to say?

“But all of you are missing the point! Albion DelFino is guilty of _poisoning_ his wife, Constance DelFino, as part of his plan to extort money from Orlov. If Constance isn’t truly ill, then my cousin Lannie doesn’t have to marry the daimyo of Orlov unless she _wants_ to. She has the right of refusal! And, and! The real reason Albion wants Lannie to marry Orlov is because he’s so deep in debt! Why should Orlov pay Albion DelFino’s gambling debts? Do none of you people _think_?” Although unspoken, the word dummies rang through the cathedral.

No one could come up with an answer for Ulla, letting her voice reverberate in the silent cathedral hall until the echoes died down. Iolanthe thought about chiming in, but what could she add? Ulla was both correct and succinct so she decided to stay silent. There was no reason to draw more attention to herself from Rastislav. He was angry enough at her.

Then Albion did answer.

“I need that money. I want my daughter to be the daimyah of Orlov. Everything I have done is for the benefit of my family. I would never, ever harm them.”

Zachary opened his mouth, but Charlton got there first.

“Zachery? Wait,” Charlton said harshly. “My lord daimyo, I have the right to talk to my father first.”

Zachery glared at Charlton but to the surprise of everyone in the room, he closed his mouth.

“Dad,” Charlton said. “As the daimyo, Zachery should expel you from DelFino. Or not. That’s his choice. But as for me, whatever Zachery decides, if I catch you in my corner of DelFino, I will hang you with my own hands for what you did to my mother and my sister and I’ll do it in the village square in front of the peasants you robbed.”

Albion stepped back, stricken, and flung his hand to his brow. “My son, how could you?”

“Easily. You poisoned my mother. You sold my sister. What did you promise Mistress Vaughn? That you would marry her after mama died? Or did you lie to her too while you cheated on mama with her? You let our corner of DelFino fall into ruin,” Charlton ranted.

“Enough,” Zachery interrupted, figuring out that Charlton had a long list of legitimate grievances against his father and wanted to announce every last one of them in front of witnesses. He couldn’t fail to notice the cathedral priests and their underlings hovering behind corner pillars hoping not to be noticed. It looked like the entire staff of the cathedral was watching the show. Everyone in Barsoom would hear about this fiasco in short order, followed by everyone in the Four Hundred. Wonderful. Another DelFino scandal enlivening gossip columns across Mars. At least the family wasn’t present to gawk at the show and realize what a major mistake he had made in permitting Albion to arrange the marriage.

“Albion, you’re permanently banned from DelFino. I will have Grimaldi pack your things. They’ll be waiting at the tradesman’s entrance.”

“And what of me?” Rastislav asked. “My bride is anxious to marry me. She wrote to tell me how eager she was. I’ll take Yilanda and keep my money for the benefit of Orlov.”

Ulla stared at the daimyo of Orlov. Lannie wrote to that dreadful man? Then she caught Walter’s flash of, of, something visible even through the swelling, blood, and bloody handkerchief. Guilt? Or gloating?

Charlton looked over at Dimitri and mouthed ‘what letter?’

Dimitri shrugged and shook his head. Iolanthe wanted to groan. Didn’t he remember that Rastislav had bragged about Yilanda writing to him? Wait. She was the only person in Orlov besides Rastislav and Nelly who knew what the letter actually said. But even so, Dimitri should have remembered how Rastislav had bragged.

“And as for you, cripple,” Rastislav said with an evil grin, “if you leave the cathedral now, I will not punish your father, your uncle, your aunt, your young cousins, nor your brother. You get nothing, other than the clothes on your back. Nor may you ask your brother for help.”

Dimitri stiffened, looked furious, then made his face blank.

Iolanthe swallowed and smiled graciously. “Will you keep your word? You have witnesses and we are on holy ground, although our Orlov ancestors and Gods do not come here.”

“I am the daimyo.”

She snorted ostentatiously.

“Swear on Madame Orlov’s name that you will not harm my father, uncle, aunt, cousins, brother, or anyone else residing in Orlov _and_ show me the Pearls of Orlov so I know they are safe. You know the torments Madame Orlov will inflict on you, in your dreams now and in the afterlife for all eternity if you break your word. Then I will leave,” Iolanthe replied.

Good Lord above. They believe in voices from the grave. The entire Orlov family is insane, Zachery thought. Any contracts and business deals will have to be carefully monitored. We may have all had a narrow escape.

Iolanthe wanted to sprint away while Rastislav glared at her. She forced herself to remain proudly upright, working hard not to tremble too much. What was she going to do? She had virtually no money and no way of earning any. Charlton DelFino no longer needed to marry her to pay for his mother’s medical care. Dimitri wouldn’t dare help her, not openly and certainly not right away. Maybe the cathedral would offer her sanctuary, at least for a day or two. Nelly, too. She couldn’t leave her maid behind at the Orlov townhouse after this fiasco. Rastislav would take out his fury on the poor girl.

“Again, this is all very interesting and informative,” Ulla shouted. “But what about _Lannie_? Where is she? My cousin gets a vote, and by the way, I do not believe for one single second” — she pointed at Rastislav with a sharp fingernail while he ignored her in favor of examining his own fingernails — “that Lannie ever wrote a word about wanting to marry a disgusting, abusive old roué who threatens a crippled woman, daimyo or not.”

She also watched Walter’s face from the corner of her eye. Walter had definitely done something.

“Ulla is right,” Charlton said, equally loud. “Lannie doesn’t have to marry the daimyo of Orlov. Mama will recover and I don’t care if whoever dad owes hunts him down and breaks his legs.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Zachery said, trying to seize back control. “The family isn’t in favor of the match between Yilanda and the daimyo of Orlov anyways or this cathedral would be filled to the rafters with relatives. Where is Lannie so we can get this fiasco over with? Albion, we are not done so don’t run off or _I_ will have your legs broken before handing you over to your creditors.”

Albion cringed and stopped sidling away.

Charlton said “Lannie is locked in the private chapel.”

Zachery raised his eyebrows.

“She is wearing the Pearls of Orlov. That is why I locked her in,” Rastislav said. “I draped her with them to prepare her to bear me strong sons. She adores those Pearls and will be overjoyed to marry me and wear them for the rest of her life.”

He grinned, showing his yellowed teeth, then marched over to the chapel door, unlocked it, swung the door open and declaimed “behold, my eager bride, Yilanda Ranaglia DelFino adorned in the Pearls of Orlov!”

But the room was empty.

* * *

Fen trudged through mucking out one stall after another, wishing he had not promised he’d finish up all his assigned tasks before leaving Barsoom. Keeping his word should mean something and here it meant working while he ached all over and needed to get the hellation out of Barsoom and head home to the clean, familiar Ennaretee. The thought of home had never been sweeter.

Far worse than his physical injuries were his mental ones. Those damned risto basuras. Walter DelFino. Charlton DelFino. Dimitri Orlov. He would never forget those names. Those snotty princelings had humiliated him and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. They held the power in Barsoom. Anything he did would bring an avalanche of grief onto Astrid Cardozo, her parents, the rest of the livery stable staff. Those damned basuras would probably take out their anger on the horses as well.

DelFino was a name he knew. They were one of the four greatest, most powerful families in the Four Hundred. Their demesne, just outside Barsoom was many times larger than HighTower’s own territory. Orlov was unfamiliar, but they must be powerful or the livery stable owner wouldn’t have feared Dimitri Orlov as much as he did DelFino.

Damn them all. He would have his revenge if it took him the rest of his life. In the meantime, he finished the stalls wishing each toss of a loaded pitchfork landed on Walter DelFino. Or Charlton DelFino. Or Dimitri Orlov.

There was nothing he could do to get back at them. Nothing. Not now, and maybe, he realized with chagrin, not ever. HighTower had no power in the Conclave at all and damned little power in the Ennaretee. He had to make the Ennaretee stronger. Somehow.

But that would have to wait for his arrival home.

For right now, he had to get out of Barsoom and quick. Nothing would stop him from leaving the city and nothing would slow him down. Nothing.


	17. Hey, girlie. You look lost.

Lannie looked around the tiny chapel room, hoping to see something, anything that would help. She couldn’t stop shaking from the feel of Rastislav’s creepy hands groping her body, making it harder to focus on her surroundings. There was an unpadded wooden bench facing a brilliantly painted image of a God she didn’t recognize, surrounded by a sea of tiny stars on one wall. There were candles mounted around the icon, beeswax by the sweet smell and not cheaper bayberry. A small window was high up on the plain wall opposite the door. The door she came in through; locked and she needed it to remain that way. Another door on the otherwise plain fourth wall.

Another door! What was wrong with her? She flung herself at the door, stumbling over the layers of her petticoats and the high heeled sandals, wrenched it open and discovered a closet. She shoved the numerous hanging garments out of the way. No hidden panels. No exit. She couldn’t hide in the closet or fit under the bench. She could barely fit through the closet door with that damned yellow gown hampering her every movement.

Who had picked this creampuff of a gown? Daddy insisted it hadn’t been him. He had railed about its tacky ugliness and utter lack of sophistication. It was the kind of gown a peasant would select, instead of something simple, refined, and elegant. He also would have never chosen something that would upstage him so completely so she had to believe him.

Lannie spun around and around in frustration, near to tears again. With each turn, she stepped on the hem of the dress, the heels of her wildly impractical shoes stabbing through the fabric and catching on it, making her stagger. She stopped in front of the open closet. Garments. What had Walter been planning? Nothing she could figure out from what was in the room, darn him. Ulla was right. Miscommunication caused all sorts of problems.

Then it hit her. Garments! Whatever was in the closet had to be better than this monstrosity of a ballgown.

She shuffled through the garments rapidly. They were all priestly robes of various sorts, all huge, all brightly colored and lavishly trimmed, and all as unwieldy and conspicuous as the gown she was currently wearing. But there was one other piece of clothing. Lannie felt herself grin in relief. Tucked in behind the priestly robes on a hook in the far corner was a coverall. It was too big, but not so big she couldn’t roll up the pantlegs and the sleeves. Like most coveralls, it was loaded with useful pockets, all empty. Whoever did the maintenance had probably stashed it for later use.

She looked down at herself in the poufy, frilly, lacy creampuff of a gown. In addition to the weight of the gown was the weight of the Pearls of Orlov. She turned again and looked at the small window, high above. Then the hard bench. Hmmm. Could she move the bench?

She could.

Lannie rapidly stripped off the Pearls of Orlov, dropping them in a heap on the floor where they shone; luminescent orbs made of clouds and moonlight sprinkled with twinkling diamond stars. Then she scrambled out of the gown like a crazy woman, ripping it in her haste rather than trying to undo the dozens of tiny buttons. The petticoats swiftly followed. She kicked off the equally impractical shoes.

The coverall was next. It was too big, but there was also a pair of boots, also too big but not so big she couldn’t walk in them with her stockings wadded up around her feet. Once dressed in the coverall, Lannie stopped to listen. Nothing. No keys turned in locks. She could hear raised and angry voices outside, spurring her onto panicked effort. She shoved the bench over to the window as quietly as she could.

Then Lannie stopped.

She couldn’t panic. She didn’t dare. Panic ensured mistakes.

What had Ulla said? Think. That’s what Ulla said all the time. A few minutes of forethought could save countless hours of aggravation. If she left the dress behind, everyone would know she had changed into some other garment. Or was running through the streets of Barsoom in her underwear. The closet needed to have the robes put back and the door closed.

She hastily tidied the room. The creampuff of a dress and its petticoats got wadded up into a bundle, shoes tucked in the middle. She picked up every torn-off scrap and lost button, stuffing them into the center of the bundle.

That left the Pearls of Orlov, a gleaming, lustrous heap of jewelry in the middle of the floor.

Mama needed the Pearls to pay for her medical care. But did she really? If Mistress Vaughn was poisoning her, then what Lannie really needed to do was tell Charlton. Or Ulla. Or maybe Zachery. She couldn’t believe anymore that Walter cared. Certainly not daddy. Maybe not Zachery either. He wanted her to marry the daimyo of Orlov too, because he wanted access to markets all the way to Easternmost.

Lannie stared at the Pearls of Orlov, entranced again by their luminescent splendor. Rastislav Orlov didn’t deserve such incredible beauty. Maybe the demesne of Orlov did, but he didn’t. She gave herself a violent mental shake. She, on the other hand, could use some money. Pearls could be sold.

She was wasting time. She had to get out right now.

Lannie scooped up the Pearls of Orlov and crammed them willy-nilly into the pockets of the coverall. She didn’t leave a single piece of jewelry behind, not even the earrings. Rastislav had removed mama’s opals, pocketing them. The wires that he had so amorously slid through her own earlobe piercings while whispering what he wanted to do to her burned in her hand and made her gag. The earrings, grape clusters of pearls with jade leaves, went into her pockets anyway. They would, she decided, be the first pieces she would sell. Mama’s opal earrings, like mama’s daisy earrings, were gone forever.

She couldn’t waste time regretting their loss.

She stepped onto the bench and yes, she could slide open the window and if she was careful and lucky, she might be able to close it from the other side, concealing her escape for a few minutes. She wrenched and shoved the dress bundle through, squirmed and wriggled through the small opening (she could never have made it while wearing that creampuff of a dress), and climbed out awkwardly onto an ornamental ledge. It was narrow, but clinging there let her push the window closed and then jump down to the ground where the bundled dress waited on the gravel path, a beacon of shimmering yellow.

The back of the cathedral was a quiet, messy area. This was where the work of maintaining a building was done, similar to what the back areas of barns and stables were like in her corner of DelFino. And yes, Lannie felt herself smile, the encircling wall had a gate leading to buildings on the other side and an alley and then the world beyond. Not farm fields or the village like at home, but the vast free-city of Barsoom.

Mysteriously and even better, no one was there working as would be expected for this time of day. She could disappear without a trace.

Lannie trotted down the gravel path, opened the gate as quietly as she could, closed it and ran across the busy street towards the dim and dark alley on the other side.

Sanctuary. For now.

* * *

The alley wasn’t just dim. It reeked like a stable that had never been cleaned. Stables meant horses. She wasn’t the best rider, but she could manage one of the beasts. If someone else saddled it and if it was a gentle, tractable horse that didn’t make demands.

Lannie stopped and thought. Maybe she could pay for help with pearls. Maybe she’d get robbed at once. The Pearls might become a problem and not just because Orlov would be looking for her.

“Hey, girlie. You look lost.”

Lannie stiffened. The accent was atrocious but the voice didn’t sound threatening.

“You sure do. What’s that pretty bundle you’re carrying?”

Two voices. Two female voices. Did women mug other women and rob them? This was Barsoom, so probably so.

She turned slowly and smiled as pleasingly as she knew how.

“I sure am lost,” Lannie admitted. “I’ve got to leave the city. Is there a stable nearby?” She wrinkled her nose. “It smells like a barn.”

“Girlie, all the alleys in Barsoom smell like barns.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. What’s your name? I’m, um, Ulla.”

Gleesh. Couldn’t she have thought of something better? Too late now.

“Hi Ulla. I’m Winnie and that’s Tevy.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Winnie, Tevy,” Lannie gushed. “Do you live around here?”

The two women weren’t much older than she was, but they had much older eyes and hard, tired faces. They were also wearing very low-cut blouses worn over full, shockingly short skirts. Their skin was even more yellowy than Lannie’s, with the characteristic mottling of the lowest castes. They weren’t dressed like the street vendors Lannie had seen from carriage rides through Barsoom. Winnie rolled her shoulders and her breasts threatened to spill out of her blousy top.

“Yeah, we do. We know everyone who lives here. You’re a stranger so what are you doing here?”

Lannie swallowed hard. What should she say? She wasn’t a good liar; she couldn’t tell even the most minor fib without giggling nervously. What did these women do for a living? They were obviously low-caste. No village woman back home in DelFino ever dressed like Winnie and Tevy did. The answer struck her like a thrown brick. Oh. This was Barsoom. That’s what they sold. Would they even listen or care?

Or maybe they would. They knew what men could be like. The truth might serve quite well.

“It’s um,” she tried for another smile and could feel herself wanting to cry. She let the tears stream down her already stained cheeks. Her eyes must be completely bloodshot from all the crying she had done. Daddy would be so proud of how she was adlibbing.

“I’m being forced to marry this awful man. I can’t do it. I stole this coverall and I ran away from the cathedral. I’ve got to get out of Barsoom.”

“You expect us to believe a stupid lie like that?” Winnie asked, her face hard as stone.

“Look at my gown. It’s what I was going to get married in. You can have it if you want.” Lannie partially unfolded the bunched-up dress, now considerably worse for wear. It shimmered in the dim alley like captured sunbeams and Winnie and Tevy both oohed, eyes wide and mouths open in wonder.

“Really?” Tevy asked.

“Yes, really,” Lannie said. “Just looking at it makes me think of that awful geezer putting his hands on me and, and…” Fresh tears rolled down her face. “I will never wear it again. There’s shoes too.”

Winnie leaned over to stroke the cheap lace bodice and the frilly tiered petticoats with a timid, wondering hand.

“I never seen anything so pretty outside of a shop window,” she whispered, entranced.

“Take a closer look,” Lannie said and handed the dress over to Winnie and Tevy. “I ripped it trying to get it off but I’m sure it can be mended.” She held up the shoes in one hand; high-heeled, impractical, glittery sandals made to be admired but not walked in. “See? There’s little fake diamonds across the toes. And here’s the loose buttons I tore off.” She held out her other hand, full of drops of sun.

“What’s the geezer’s name?” Tevy asked absently as she ran her hands across the full, puffy sleeves and watched the pale-yellow fabric shimmer in the shadowed alley like sunshine dancing on a fountain.

“Rastislav,” Lannie answered without thinking and winced. Gleesh. She should have thought of another name.

Both women’s faces hardened again.

“Ulla?”

“ _What_? _Where!?_ Oh, right. That’s me,” Lannie blurted out in panic and winced again.

“The only Rastislav we know off is a vicious bastard who beats up the girls he hires,” Winnie said icily.

Tevy was gasping for air and cringing back against the dirty alley wall.

“Oh no,” Lannie said, her hand to her mouth. There couldn’t be two Rastislavs with evil ways. “I’m so sorry. Did he do that to you?”

“Once. To Tevy. She spent a week in the infirmary,” Winnie answered. “We keep the dress and the shoes and in exchange we’ll never tell anyone we saw you.”

“That would be wonderful,” Lannie gushed with relief. “Do you know how I can get out of Barsoom to the train station? I can’t let him catch me.”

“Gods, no,” Winnie said. “He’ll murder you, you doing a runner on him. There’s a livery stable down the street, the one this alley connects to. The trolley stops near the stables.”

“Thank you both so much,” Lannie said. “I’ll never tell anyone you helped me. If he catches me,” — she shuddered and swallowed hard — “I’ll lie. No one deserves to have Rastislav hurt them. No one.”

“Run, Ulla,” Winnie said. “The trolley will be coming by within the half-hour. You can make it.”

“Thank you again so much,” Lannie said and impulsively hugged both women tightly to their immense surprise.

They watched her run down the alley, her feet slipping in boots that were too large for her and the coverall cuffed up to shorten the pants legs and the sleeves folded back.

“We got to move too, Tevy,” Winnie said. “She may be lying about her name, but not about him. If that vicious bastard is anywhere nearby, we got to leave.”

Tevy nodded vigorously, still unable to speak. She stroked the most beautiful gown she had ever seen, clutched it tightly to her bosom and ran down the alley with Winnie in the other direction, back home to safety and hours and hours of fastidious mending.

* * *

Rastislav stared into the empty chapel room. Empty of Yilanda, empty of the most hideous gown he had ever seen, and most important of all, empty of the Pearls of Orlov.

Dimitri crowded behind him, closely followed by Charlton.

“Where are the Pearls,” Dimitri asked, his voice like ice.

“Where is my sister,” Charlton asked, equally cold.

“I, I, don’t know,” Rastislav stammered. His heart clenched within his chest and his pulse pounded in his ears. The Pearls had vanished as if they had never existed. Madame Orlov reared up in his brain, screeching like a harpy gone mad. The family would cut his throat for this. He had ruined Orlov. Serfs would curse his name for generations to come. He clutched at his chest, knowing he would welcome a heart attack at that moment, despite the fact it would put him into Madame Orlov’s clutches without delay. He wouldn’t have to face the furious family until they died, one by one, in the future. Would serfs punish him as well, in the afterlife? Yes, they would.

“The Pearls, Rastislav! Where are they?” Dimitri demanded, louder.

“My sister! What did you do to my sister!” Charlton snarled.

“Nothing,” Rastislav protested. “I did nothing. The chapel room was empty when I locked her in. You saw me!”

“There’s another door,” Ulla said, forcing her way to the chapel door and peeking inside. “Perhaps you should open it?”

Charlton lunged for the second door and flung it open. A closet crammed with priestly robes stared back at him. He shoved them aside roughly. Nothing but robes. No hidden door, no Pearls of Orlov, and no Lannie.

“She couldn’t have gotten out,” Rastislav cried. “Not in that hideous dress.”

“What does Lannie’s dress have to do with anything?” Ulla asked, exasperated with idiots. No one paid her any attention.

Iolanthe limped forward, tugged on Ulla’s sleeve to get her to step out of the way and listen to a quiet answer. The men gathered at the chapel door ignored them in favor of acrimonious words and wild accusations.

“Miss DelFino’s gown was enormous. Tiered floor-length skirts over layered petticoats, huge puffy sleeves, plenty of poor-quality lace covering the bodice, and all in a shimmery, unflattering pale yellow. She couldn’t hide in a pitch-dark cave in that gown.”

Ulla met her eyes. Someone who listened. At last. She glanced over Iolanthe. Plain. Lame. Both as advertised. She had to wonder about the penniless part because of the seed pearls sewn all over her veil and dress.

“More importantly,” Iolanthe added, “she would not have been able to squeeze through the window wearing that gown.”

Hmm, Ulla thought. The stupid part was decidedly not true. Iolanthe Orlov knew how to use her eyes and brain.

“What do you think Lannie did?” she whispered.

Iolanthe didn’t hesitate. “She went out the window and managed to close it from the other side. See the bench? So conveniently located. She took off the gown, only my ancestors know how she managed without a maid, and climbed out. It’s the only explanation.”

“Agreed. Did you want her to marry Rastislav?” Ulla asked pointedly.

“Gods, no,” Iolanthe replied. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I did, but why? It’s not unknown for a husband to beat up a wife and daimyos are no exception, Lannie’s not getting a lot of support from DelFino to protect her, and there’s the possibility of trade alliances making both demesnes piles of money in the future.”

Iolanthe took a quick glance around. All the men were now gathered around the doorway, arguing about what to do next. Even Albion was there, wailing about his lost daughter as if he genuinely cared. Walter, on the other hand, hmm. She didn’t know him; the swelling, bruises and bloody handkerchief made it still harder to read his face, but even so, something about his expression and posture was off. At any rate, none of them were listening to her and Ulla.

“The sot is destroying Orlov, continuing the ruin his father and grandfather before him inflicted on us. We are desperately afraid of him siring a son, allowing his line to continue. We were afraid he might manage with Lannie. It would have been terrible for her and terrible for us.”

“How badly do you want to find her?”

Iolanthe stared at Ulla, puzzled. “I don’t want harm to come to Lannie. She’s innocent. But we, Orlov, have to have the Pearls back. They’re critical for the wellbeing of everyone in the demesne down to the lowliest serf.”

“Okay then,” Ulla said. “I have to save Lannie but I don’t need the Pearls for DelFino.”

“My deepest thanks. Should we inform the gentlemen they’re missing the obvious?”

Ulla glanced over at Rastislav, ranting furiously and shaking his fists at the empty room. “No. I want to give Lannie a head start so I can find her first.”

“She has the Pearls, Ulla,” Iolanthe said firmly. “The Pearls will put her in grave danger. Anyone who sees them will steal them and they won’t hesitate to murder Lannie to get them. If that happens, we all lose. You and Charlton and all of Orlov.”

“Gleesh. You’re right. I didn’t see them. Are they that alluring?”

“Yes, especially when all of them are present. Their power multiplies with each additional piece. It’s the rare person who isn’t enthralled by them.” Iolanthe thought of Charlton’s reaction when he saw the Pearls. He hadn’t been enthralled. He saw them as a resource. What did he think when he saw her? Not that it mattered anymore.

“Okay then,” Ulla said. “I’ll take care of this.” She did not add what she was thinking: The Pearls of Orlov have the power to enchant people? And it strengthens when you throw on an extra bracelet or two? Gleesh, they are barking mad.

* * *

She didn’t have to intercede. The gentlemen had finally reached the same conclusion.

“Shut up, all of you,” Charlton yelled. “I don’t care about the damned Pearls or what happens to Orlov. I want my sister back! She had to have taken off that ugly dress and climbed out the window and we’re wasting time.”

“Agreed,” Dimitri said.

Rastislav stomped through the chapel room and peered at the window.

“It is closed.”

“She closed it from the outside after she climbed through, idiot,” Dimitri hissed.

“You dare to speak to your daimyo this way?” Rastislav shouted.

“A true daimyo would never betray his demesne as you have,” Dimitri yelled back. “Madame Orlov will haunt you to the end of your days and then punish you for all eternity afterwards.”

“The whole pack of you are barking mad,” Zachery commented, taking in the scene. “Charlton, find your sister. Keep me posted on what happens. I will send word to all of DelFino about your father’s banishment. He won’t find refuge with us. I will also send word to your corner of DelFino so Mistress Vaughn cannot escape.”

“I’ve already done that,” Ulla said.

“What?” Charlton demanded.

“You have?” Zachery asked. “When?”

“When we left for Barsoom. I sent Harry with a message for my father,” Ulla replied. “I wrote him my suspicions and asked him to move to Charlton’s corner of DelFino right away, coordinate with the village headman, and see to his mama’s care. I haven’t seen his response yet, but he should already be taking care of auntie Constance. Also, I told Cook and asked her to start brewing her own tisanes for Constance and to remove and store all of Mistress Vaughn’s for later analysis.”

Charlton looked shocked and then overjoyed. “That’s what you told Cook? Thank you, Ulla. I’ll never call you a controlling harpy again.”

“You’d better not.”

Zachery had a very considering look on his face. “Very forward thinking of you, Ulla. I’m impressed. Who is auntie Ottilie introducing you to while you’re in Barsoom?”

She frowned and began chewing on her next smallest fingernail on her right hand. “Another group of third-stringers from the provinces. I, um, anyways, now’s not the time. We have to find Lannie.”

“Agreed!” Rastislav boomed. “What does it matter which unlucky slobbo weds the harpy? My jilting bitch of a bride stole the Pearls of Orlov.”

Zachery laid a firm hand on Ulla’s shoulder, willing her to silence. To his amazement, she kept her mouth closed although she looked ready to murder the daimyo of Orlov, witnesses be damned.

“Rastislav,” he said coldly. “Shut up. DelFino will never enter a business deal with Orlov as long as you remain the daimyo. You are irrational, abusive, and uncontrolled. There are other avenues open to DelFino in the eastern markets. I will, moreover, counsel against working with Orlov to all my fellow daimyos for as long as you lead that demesne. Charlton!”

“Yes, sir?”

“When you locate your sister, if she is carrying the Pearls of Orlov, you may return them to a responsible member of Orlov or you may choose to let them become the Pearls of DelFino.”

“ _ **What!**_ ” Rastislav, Dimitri, and Iolanthe screamed with a single voice.

Zachery smirked. “It’s reassuring to know that members of Orlov can cooperate when properly motivated. Charlton, find your sister. Ulla, we’ll talk later but for now, assist Charlton. Walter, get to a doctor. Albion, we have to talk. My carriage. Now.”

He turned and stalked down the echoing nave towards the cathedral doors, followed much more slowly by a sullen, reluctant Albion DelFino.

On the other end of the nave, Rastislav snapped his fingers and his burly servant trotted up, still carrying the now empty carved chest that had contained the Pearls of Orlov. He took the chest and shoved it into Dimitri’s hands, then spoke to the servant.

“Search the grounds of the cathedral and bring back my runaway bride and the Pearls of Orlov.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Dimitri, go with him.”

Dimitri nodded and followed, hesitating and glancing backwards at his sister.

“As for you, cripple,” Rastislav said. “You are the reason my bride fled. She heard your lies.”

“She was already terrified of you,” Iolanthe said coolly, head high as befitted a princess of Orlov. She was glad her skirts hid her trembling legs and she clutched her cane openly, a sturdy lifeline to lean on.

“No. She was eager. Until you opened your ugly mouth and spewed out ugly words.”

Like lightening, Rastislav slapped at Iolanthe as hard as he could, meaning to knock her to the stone floor where he could easily trample her.

She saw the fury in his eyes, but she couldn’t move. Fear froze her in place and she was lame. She couldn’t leap aside; no more than a crippled gazelle could escape a tiger.

Charlton moved faster, catching Rastislav’s hand in his own, much stronger one before it ever reached her face. He shoved backwards, hard, forcing Rastislav back onto his ass while bending Rastislav’s wrist almost to breaking.

“Stay from away from my wife, or I will break you in two, daimyo or not.”

Rastislav stared upwards at Charlton — young, thuggish, strong as an ox, and unlike Walter, unafraid of confrontation — with a pounding heart, fear icing his spine, and cradled his wrist. It was on fire, pain radiating up and down from fingertips to shoulder. The DelFino thug might have broken it as he had broken Walter’s nose. The thug wouldn’t hesitate to harm him still further. The thug would enjoy himself. Rastislav sidled back, out of range, ignored. He massaged his throbbing wrist, plotted revenge, and watched.

Charlton seized Iolanthe’s arm and walked her, unresisting and terrified, a few paces away. They met Dimitri, furious and trapped by conflicting obligations to his sister and to the demesne. The servant had already disappeared, not bothering to wait for Dimitri to make up his mind.

“We need a new plan,” Charlton said abruptly. “We have to find Lannie”

“We have to get the Pearls back,” Dimitri said.

“I’m not your wife,” Iolanthe said softly.

Charlton smiled at her. “Not yet.”

“Based on the evidence I’ve seen, I don’t think either of you can plan a four wagon parade,” Ulla said pointedly. “I recommend Charlton take Iolanthe away from here while Dimitri and I search for Lannie and the Pearls. Charlton keeps Iolanthe safe and Dimitri and I keep Lannie safe. Orlov keeps the Pearls. I also recommend that you, Dimitri, stick a knife into that vicious bastard’s heart as soon as possible, preferably a poisoned one.”

Charlton, Dimitri, and Iolanthe all gaped at Ulla.

“You say you always do the right thing and you’re advocating murder?” Charlton asked, appalled.

“That’s, uh, very ruthless of you,” Dimitri said, equally startled.

“It may be murder, but it is the right thing to do and it is practical,” Iolanthe said coolly. “The sot’s death would solve so many of our problems.”

“True, true,” Dimitri murmured.

“Dimitri, we have to find Lannie before someone else does,” Ulla said firmly. “She’s naïve, she doesn’t think, she’s not familiar with Barsoom, she’ll get lost within seconds, and the Pearls will get her murdered within seconds if anyone sees them.”

“Ulla’s right,” Charlton said. “We’re wasting time. Go, Dimitri. You take care of my sister and I’ll take care of yours.”

The two young men hugged briefly and hard, making Ulla and Iolanthe both reevaluate how well acquainted the two of them were as opposed to what they claimed.

* * *

Ulla ran for the chapel’s bench and hoisted herself up to peer through the window. Nothing but the usual dustbins, cutting garden of starry white flowers obviously intended for the altar, strewn about gardening tools, lawns edging gravel pathways, and a toolshed. But the high stone wall encircling the cathedral’s back area had a gate.

“Dimitri, there’s a gate and Lannie went through it,” Ulla reported.

“How can you know that?” Dimitri asked.

Ulla wanted to roll her eyes and groan but she couldn’t waste the time.

“Lannie doesn’t think. She’s either dressed like some peasant’s idea of a storybook princess so she’s super-conspicuous or she’s running around in her underwear. Even in Barsoom that would be conspicuous. She’s panicking and there’s nowhere to hide other than a toolshed which even she’s smart enough not to use. She’s not athletic enough to scale the wall and go leaping across the rooftops. If you have a better idea, start talking.”

Dimitri eyed her for a long, time-wasting moment. “Charlton told me you were quite capable.”

“I am. Let’s go.” Ulla ran out of the tiny side chapel, heading toward a side door that she thought would be more closely located to the back of the cathedral. She didn’t bother to check if Dimitri followed her. If he wanted to recover the Pearls of Orlov, he needed to get moving. It wasn’t her job to motivate him anymore than it was her job to find the Pearls. Lannie came first.

Dimitri trotted after Ulla, clutching the carved chest. He’d caught his breath but he still wasn’t up to running a marathon after his earlier one through the streets of Barsoom. Hampered by her skirts, she wasn’t the fastest runner, giving him more time to recover and contemplate the reality of Ulla DelFino. She was blonde, pretty, extremely well-connected, probably well-dowered, strong-willed, hyper-competent, and always right. She’d be difficult to live with and not just because her voice was irritatingly screechy. Charlton had not exaggerated. He felt a rush of sympathy for the young men she was being introduced to.

Ulla was correct about the cathedral’s back area. There was no sign of Lannie, nor of her very conspicuous dress. The gate was closed, but so had been the side chapel’s window. The gate opened up onto a narrow street with an alley across the way, fetid and shadowy, leading off deeper into the city. The other end was concealed by a bend, making it impossible to see how long the alley was or where it went.

“I don’t see any indications of her,” Dimitri said as they hastily checked up and down the street and each of the alleys leading off it, working their way between curious and irritated bystanders who were all trying to get their own business attended to.

“We’ll have to start questioning the locals,” Ulla said. “Think of a good cover story. We can’t mention the Pearls and we sure can’t admit that Lannie’s running away from a forced marriage to an abusive geezer. Everyone will lie.”

“True, true.” Dimitri had to wonder how Ulla would get along with Iolanthe. They thought alike. And there was his answer about how to work with Ulla DelFino. He’d treat her like his very smart, capable sister instead of the harpy she was, taking full advantage of her brains and drive. As long as Ulla didn’t let her imagination run away with her like Iolanthe was prone to do, they’d find Lannie in short order. If he got the Pearls of Orlov back, he’d be happy to give her the majority of the credit.

“How about something like the truth? Our cousin is simple-minded and she’s lost and we have to find her,” Dimitri suggested. “What does Lannie look like anyway?”

Ulla thought. “That would work. Wait. You haven’t met Lannie?”

“I have. For about one minute at the DelFino townhouse.”

Ulla speared him to the wall with her eyes accompanied by her jabbing fingertip. “I ask because I got the distinct impression you and Charlton know each other far better than either of you admit to.”

He gaped at her. She was smart.

“Well? Out with it! I can’t work without facts. Communication problems make everything worse.”

Ulla was frowning terribly, had her hands on her hips, and was tapping her foot. Dimitri felt like he was five again, caught in some blatantly obvious piece of mischief. At least she was no longer jabbing him in the chest (right against the growing bruise that damned stablehand had inflicted on him) with a sharp fingernail.

He thought fast. “I swear I will tell you everything as soon as we have the time.”

“Uh huh,” Ulla said. “On Madame Orlov’s soul no doubt?”

Dimitri laughed. “I admit we of Orlov sound crazy when it comes to Madame Orlov. However, she can be useful when dealing with the sot. She’s his direct ancestor and he absolutely believes in her and her mystical presence.”

“Gleesh. Well, that’s good enough for now. Follow me.” Ulla turned and marched up to the greengrocer sweeping his sidewalk two storefronts down the street. The grocer had been watching them charge about in between rearranging his bins of fruit and vegetables as they sold and flirting with shoppers. Someone paying that kind of attention to potential customers and possible shoplifters would have noticed Lannie running around in her storybook princess gown or in her underwear. Either was worthy of notice, even in Barsoom.

* * *

Walter watched the noisy running around with satisfaction, despite the pain from his throbbing nose and impaired breathing. He hurt all over from the drubbing that damned stablehand had given him but those aches paled in comparison to his nose. Even so, he didn’t want to retreat to the Great Hospital just yet to have his nose reset.

That irritating fool Charlton hadn’t seen the obvious until far too late. Lannie had to have stripped off the carefully chosen, flashy gown, squeezed out the window, and was even now running around the streets of Barsoom barefoot and in her underwear. Or she had somehow struggled back into that gown without a maid to help her. The gown was guaranteed to slow her down, particularly in combination with those carefully selected, high-heeled sandals. Lannie never wore that style of shoes so she could just manage to totter about in them. Running was out of the question. He doubted she’d go barefoot; the streets of Barsoom encouraged shoes.

Too bad Rastislav had moved the time of the wedding up so hastily. He hadn’t been able to get his own servant in place fast enough to help Lannie into a quick change of anonymous clothes, out the window, and then hide her in a convenient, very private hotel room to wait for him.

The presence of the Pearls had been a shocking, wonderful surprise. They were the most beautiful things he had ever seen, bar none, and he made it a point to be a connoisseur of beauty. He really had not expected the daimyo of Orlov to bring the Pearls with him to Barsoom and then drape them over Lannie in the cathedral, despite her asking for them in the letter. He had expected only a bracelet or two, at best. But that raddled old fool had brought them all. And for Lannie! Amazing.

Walter patted his pocket reassuringly. He had managed to slip that loose bracelet over Lannie’s wrist and no one had noticed. Those sleight of hand lessons proved useful again. The bracelet was his now; pearls made of moonlit clouds, swan’s-down, and stars gleaming on snow. He’d never part with it.

He watched with interest as Charlton, thug that he was, forced Rastislav onto the cathedral floor for, quite rightly, accusing the cripple of causing problems. The cripple had thrown another monkey wrench into what remained of his plan to save Lannie, yet everything was still mostly working out. Sweet, virginal Lannie had escaped the forced marriage; regrettably she was not waiting for him in a hotel room. She would have been properly and deliciously grateful to him for her rescue.

She’d be found soon enough thanks to her conspicuous dress but that no longer mattered. His sweet cousin wouldn’t have to marry the sot, he had a bracelet from the Pearls of Orlov, and Charlton might actually marry the ugly, stupid, penniless cripple and of his own free will. That worthless ham and poor excuse of a DelFino, Albion, had been publicly humiliated which was also nice as well as most unexpected. Poisoning auntie Constance! Gleesh. Albion must owe piles of money and so deserved to be exiled from DelFino, over and above how he had ruined his corner of the demesne.

He would miss being Lannie’s first lover. However, her maidenhead was a minor loss compared to how much he had gained.

The interesting question now was how well did Charlton and Dimitri know each other? Much, much better than they claimed. That was obvious. Walter absentmindedly shifted the handkerchief he clutched to his throbbing nose, sending a new wave of pain blazing across his face. It was time to leave the cathedral (despite how fascinating the situation was) and find a doctor in time to save his handsome profile.


	18. I have to get out of Barsoom quick.

Lannie stumbled down the alley as fast as she dared. The too-large boots hobbled her, threatening to trip her at any moment, but one look at the alley’s filthy, broken paving reminded her that even though she regularly went barefoot at home, she couldn’t run barefoot here. The odor was also a deterrent. She did not want to look closely at any of the debris and trash caught in every corner and niche. Eyes glinted at her from deeper shadows and she thought of rats.

Fortunately, the alley proved short once she ran around the bend and into the unknown. Even better, it stayed empty and she heard no shouting behind her. The intersecting street was busier than the one running behind the cathedral. She stopped to look around, then thought better of it and stepped out of the mouth of the alley, where she was silhouetted in the sunlight, and moved off to one side. She pressed her back against the red sandstone building and tried to work out where in Barsoom she was.

Nothing looked familiar, not up close and not on the skyline.

Winnie and Tevy said there was a trolley stop in front of the livery stable. How far down was it? A block? Two? And in which direction? She looked around anxiously. She didn’t see any trolleys, nor did she see a helpful sign. There were plenty of people moving around on the streets, on foot, in rickshaws and riding bicycles, going about their business. Some of them paused long enough to give her the side-eye, noticing how she didn’t fit in. She quickly decided she didn’t want to ask anyone where the trolley stop was.

Lannie patted a pocket full of pearls and wondered how she would pay for a trolley ticket. She had ridden on a trolley before but the details of how to pay were hazy. A rope of pearls would attract attention. It was a sure bet that Rastislav would start searching for her the minute he realized she was gone and she’d stolen the Pearls of Orlov.

How long would he wait on the other side of the locked chapel door? The full hour? That seemed doubtful so she had to get moving. Did she have time to wait around for the trolley?

Lannie leaned back against the red sandstone building, wanting to cry again and knowing she couldn’t waste the time. She had to get out of Barsoom, but where would she go? Her destination demanded thought too.

Where was Ulla when she’d be useful?

Lannie swallowed a groan, looked up and down the street again and spotted a horse and its rider turning into a gap between buildings from the main street. Only one block away, maybe less. It was the first horse she’d seen in the few minutes she’d been hesitating and fretting so she stumbled down towards what she hoped was the livery stable.

It was. It was a big livery stable too; with wide wings surrounding a muddy courtyard. The smell of horse manure was strong, along with the sounds of horses coming from the dozens of stalls in the wings. Lannie sidled over and peeked around the corner of the building to study the goings on in the stable yard. A horse would be more anonymous than riding the trolley, at least once she had paid for the animal, had it saddled up, and left the stable.

But how would she get out of Barsoom? And how would she pay for a horse without coin? Ropes of pearls would be just as attention-worthy here as they would be at the trolley. A bracelet of pearls would be far more valuable than a horse’s rental and a single pearl might not be enough. Lannie suddenly realized here was something else she knew nothing about: how much it cost to rent a horse from a livery stable and how did she return the animal and where, once she was done with it.

She stared, fidgeting and anxious, at the busy grooms and stablehands running around. They all knew what they were doing. No one was chasing them.

Then one of the stablehands, scruffy and grubby, caught her eye. He looked even more beaten up and bruised than Walter had and she had to wonder how many more bruises were concealed by his stained, heavy wool shirt. He moved stiffly as he saddled a handsome liver gelding with a coppery mane and tail. Then he turned his back to her. He had a heavy braid of dark hair hanging down to his ass.

Lannie felt herself grin. If this was the stablehand who had fought with Walter, Charlton, and Dimitri, he might be delighted to rescue a damsel from the evil clutches of DelFino and Orlov. She looked down at her baggy coverall. Unlike the poufy creampuff of a gown, this outfit wasn’t what a damsel wore but it would suffice.

She stopped. What would Ulla do? Ulla would think up a cover story a Wildside savage would believe before she approached him. Her mind raced. She didn’t dare lie, not when she’d burst into nervous giggles or start sobbing. She had to tell the truth, but not all of it. Just like she did with Winnie and Tevy.

* * *

Zachery waited in the carriage and as he expected, he didn’t have to wait long. Albion came slinking out of the cathedral front doors just as he had been ordered. How much money did he owe? Enough that Albion would let himself be humiliated by the daimyo of DelFino in public, a far worse action than selling his daughter or poisoning his wife.

Albion stopped slinking the moment he spied Zachery sitting bolt upright in the open carriage emblazoned with the DelFino sigil to make sure everyone knew who they were getting out of the way for. He put on a good face and paraded down the steps to the waiting carriage, ready to talk.

“Zachery, I’m so pleased you came to witness my little girl marry the daimyo of Orlov and so disappointed it all ended in such a fiasco,” he declaimed to the daimyo, the coachman, the patiently waiting horses, and a few junior priests who had come out of the cathedral behind him, hoping to learn more about the latest DelFino scandal. A bystander or two also stopped to listen, enjoying the daily street theater of Barsoom.

Zachary did not invite Albion into the carriage. Instead he leaned over the side and lectured from his superior position.

“Albion, I am deeply disappointed in you. I gave you far more leeway than I should have because we used to be good friends when we were young. You ruined your corner of DelFino, robbed your peasants, did not train your son, attempted to sell your daughter, and poisoned your wife.”

Albion looked grieved. “I can explain, Zachery.”

“No doubt you can, but I don’t have to listen. One thing I would like to know, Albion, is did you plan on repaying your gambling debts with the coin you extorted from Orlov as Yilanda’s bride price? Or were you planning on losing that cash at the tables as well?”

Albion stepped back as if struck by a brick; dramatically, with deep expressions of pain and wounded valor.

“I certainly did plan to repay my debts.”

Zachery eyed him coolly. “Somehow, I doubt that. Just as I doubt you would have defaulted on your debts so you could use Yilanda’s bride price to rethatch peasant cottages, replacing the money you stole.”

Albion looked even more grieved and put-upon.

“Just as,” Zachery continued, “I somehow doubt you would have paid for Constance to visit the Great Hospital. The money for her care would have been lost over dice as well.”

“Zachery, you wound me,” Albion said stoutly. “I am a gentleman. I expect to pay my debts to the last penny and pay for my darling Constance’s care.”

“Darling Constance whom you poisoned.”

“Ulla lied.”

“Ulla can be difficult to live with but she has no imagination and she is utterly reliable. I trust her. I trusted you far too long. I will no longer do so. Thankfully for you, I am not Rastislav. I will have Grimaldi store your things until you are able to collect them at the tradesman’s entrance, however long that may take.”

Zachery sighed and closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t know what happened to you, Albion. You had such promise.” Zachery sighed again. “You are permanently banned from DelFino. One final detail. I had my coachman speak to the hired coachman driving that mediocre pair of horses the livery stable provided. He understands you may no longer use that carriage; only Walter and Charlton may command him. Nor will you be able to commandeer Ulla’s carriage. James!”

“Yes, sir?” the coachman asked. He had listened carefully to every word, storing them up so he could relate them later on to every servant in the DelFino townhouse and later on, every servant and peasant in DelFino, just as Zachery knew he would. It ensured no one provided aid to Albion DelFino. From there, the word would spread across Barsoom and beyond.

“Home. As for Albion DelFino, he must find his own way from now on.”

“Yes, sir.”

The coachman shook the reins, whistled to the team, and they trotted off, leaving Albion to stare for a few moments at the back of the carriage. He shrugged and strutted back, relaxed and unconcerned, into the cathedral, stopping as soon as he was sure he no longer had an audience.

‘Time for plan B,’ Albion thought, sitting down in a pew.

He had to think.

Rastislav wanted the Pearls back, but it was highly unlikely Yilanda would voluntarily go near him. She might, however, let her dear father get close. Dear Yilanda wouldn’t have heard Ulla’s dreadful accusations nor would she know that Zachery had banned him from DelFino. Dear, sweet, naïve Yilanda, lost and terrified in the streets of Barsoom needed to have daddy find and rescue her. Rastislav would certainly part with some of the fabulous Pearls of Orlov, even if only a brooch, if it meant getting the rest of them back from his wayward daughter.

Yes, Rastislav, daimyo of Orlov, still needed Albion DelFino. And once they’d found Yilanda, Rastislav could keep her, along with the remaining Pearls of Orlov.

Albion spent a few more minutes refining his story, then silently rehearsed his lines, ignoring the flurry of activity at the far end of the cathedral. He couldn’t afford a mistake at this stage. Amateur hour was over.

Once finished, he made his way back to the transept where Charlton stood with the Orlov harpy. Ulla, DelFino’s own homegrown harpy, was marching towards a side door with the unlucky Orlov princeling in tow. Dimitri would find out soon enough how miserable she’d make his life. It was an amusing thought, allowing him to easily slide into his prepared speech.

“Charlton,” Albion said cheerfully.

“Shut up.”

Albion tsked. “It isn’t all bad. You no longer have to marry the plain, lame, penniless Orlov harpy.”

Charlton stepped forward, forcing his father to retreat several steps at his expression.

“Dad. I will say this once. Handsome is as handsome does and you are as ugly as the sot. Do not speak to me or any member of my family again and I am including my bride-to-be in the list.”

“Fine. You are no son of mine,” Albion replied with some heat. Luckily, he had prepared additional lines in expectation of negative responses from Charlton.

“You are not my father.” Charlton grinned suddenly, without any humor. “But don’t let that stop you from breaking Zachery’s ban and visiting us in _my_ estates in DelFino. The village square would look nice with you hanging from the gibbet while the crows peck at you.”

Albion recoiled, then forced out a gracious smile. “I must bid you farewell. Send my regards to your mother and your sister and my deepest condolences to your unfortunate bride-to-be. Even _she_ can find a husband better than you.”

He spun on his heel and ambled over to Rastislav, loudly berating the empty-handed servant. The burly servant must not have found Lannie in his cursory search. As if he would. Even Lannie would be smart enough to run as far and as fast as she could away from the cathedral. She’d also avoid any representative of Orlov she recognized. Yes, Rastislav needed him.

* * *

“What an unpleasant man,” Iolanthe said. “I am sorry to say that your father lives down to his billing.”

“You’ve heard of him?”

“Oh, yes,” Iolanthe said. “Albion is a well-known gossip item. I mean, at least among my penpals.”

Charlton ran his fingers gently down her veiled cheek, making her shiver, but not in fear. It was so rare for her to have anyone outside of close family touch her other than to assist her in moving around. Her emotions about him were becoming complex; as complex as he was.

“I’m sorry you had to endure this fiasco,” Charlton said, watching her face intently. Iolanthe’s velvety brown eyes were huge and thickly fringed with long dark lashes. The wide eye opening on her sheer veil were edged in seed pearls, bringing out the sparkle in her eyes.

She giggled, a welcome ripple of humor like the shafts of light filtering down through the stained-glass windows high above, appearing and disappearing as the sun outside danced between the clouds. “The sot puts on far worse displays on a regular basis.”

Charlton looked over to where the man who used to be his father was speaking urgently with the daimyo of Orlov.

“Worse than how he behaved here?”

“Oh, yes,” Iolanthe assured him. “The sot isn’t drunk. That does make him more dangerous, I am sorry to say. He can think clearly and the pain of his near-permanent hangover makes him angrier and even less inclined to reason.”

The sot and Albion DelFino both turned to watch Charlton and Iolanthe. The sot twisted his fingers through a hand gesture making Iolanthe gasp and flinch against Charlton’s hard body. He automatically draped a protective arm around her and she edged closer.

“We need to leave,” Charlton said, eying the sot’s expression and feeling Iolanthe’s frightened trembling against him. “I trust Ulla and Dimitri to find Lannie. It shouldn’t take long with her wearing that flashy dress. I do not trust either of those two. Dimitri and Ulla will keep Lannie safe. They’ll get her back to the DelFino townhouse in no time.”

“How well do you and Dimitri know each other?” Iolanthe whispered, never taking her eyes off the sot’s enraged face. It was surprisingly comforting to lean against Charlton. The sot wouldn’t go near her with Charlton protecting her. He’d be afraid of a broken bone or a broken nose, like Walter’s. The sot liked to inflict pain on other people but he had no tolerance for pain himself. “And where are we going?”

“To see the justice of the peace,” Charlton answered. “I’ll tell you all about it in the carriage ride over to the courthouse.”

He took Iolanthe’s arm, not waiting for her to answer. She didn’t want to linger anyway, knowing what Rastislav threatened her with. She would never be safe in his presence again. Charlton DelFino was decidedly the lesser of two evils. The thought flashed by that if papa and Dimitri needed sanctuary from Orlov, Charlton would be willing to provide it.

Her leg was starting to ache from both the prolonged standing and from the stress, even with Charlton supporting her. It would be very pleasant to sit down in a carriage. She didn’t dare suggest they use the comfortable, well-sprung Orlov carriage she had arrived in. It was a relief to be told Charlton had a hired carriage from the livery stable waiting close by.

But the hired carriage was gone.

“Gleesh,” Charlton said with annoyance as they stared out at the busy street under slowly building and darkening clouds. “Walter must have taken it when he went to find a doctor.”

“Well, you did break his nose,” Iolanthe said dryly.

“He deserved it. Guess we’ll be taking the trolley. Dimitri and Ulla will need her carriage for when they find Lannie.”

* * *

Lannie picked her way cautiously across the muddy courtyard at the livery stable. The boots kept trying to trip her, throwing her face-first into the trampled mix of mud, straw, and horse manure. Charlton, Walter, and Dimitri Orlov had been fighting here? That made no sense at all. Why would Walter have fought a stablehand? Walter never had much to do with peasants other than telling them what to do, preferably from the back of a horse. Charlton was the one who climbed down into the ditch and got dirty. It wasn’t a surprise when her brother got into a fight, but Walter?

Maybe, she considered the concept carefully, she didn’t really know Walter at all. Any better than she knew her brother.

One thing she did know: neither of them had done anything to rescue her from the daimyo of Orlov. Lannie felt a surge of pride. She was rescuing herself. The pride pushed her forward, closer to the grubby, scruffy stablehand. His braid was so long that if his hair was unbound, it was longer than her own. How very strange.

She watched him arrange additional baggage atop the liver gelding. Interesting. He wasn’t just saddling a horse. He was saddling a horse for a journey of some kind. She didn’t recognize the horse’s brand but that meant nothing.

Lannie made herself walk closer.

“Hello,” she said.

Fen turned around to see a girl, looking scared and lost. He hurt all over and he was so angry, he couldn’t manage even basic politeness anymore. Those damned goat-fucking risto basuras. There was nothing he could do to get revenge on them and the more he stewed, the more he came to realize he never would.

“What do you want.”

Lannie jerked back, both at the stablehand’s nasty tone and at his beaten-up face. He’d suffered far worse than Walter had.

She tried for a smile and only managed to look more scared.

“I was wondering what you were doing with that horse,” she forced the words out.

Fen felt a twinge of guilt, seeing the girl’s open fear. She was wearing a coverall so big she was swimming in it and her eyes were bloodshot from crying. Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears. Her dark hair was straggling out of what had been an elaborate hairstyle.

“Sorry,” he struggled to get the word out. “It’s been a rough day.”

“Oh. I was wondering if you could help me,” Lannie said. “I have to get out of Barsoom quick. Can you?”

“No.” Fen turned back to Coppertail and began fussing over how he tied the bedroll.

“Oh. I really do need your help.” Lannie bit her lip. “But since you’re busy, I guess I can understand. I’m trying to get away from DelFino and Orlov.”

Fen went rigid for a heartbeat, then spun around to face the strange girl.

“What? DelFino and Orlov?” His face was thunderous, at least what Lannie could see. His left eye was almost swollen shut and his nose was swollen too. Unlike every single man she’d ever seen, he had a scruffy beard and a straggling mustache. Even peasants shaved once a week.

She found herself retreating another step, then stopped and stood her ground.

“Yes. Them. I’ll understand if you won’t help me. They’re very powerful families. I, uh, I can’t let them catch me.”

Lannie tried to smile placatingly and felt more tears flood her eyes and slide down her cheeks. He wouldn’t help. What was she going to do?

“I’m sorry for bothering you. I know it’s risky to fight DelFino and Orlov. They get what they want.” She couldn’t stop herself from sniffling. She wiped her face with her sleeve, smearing tears and snot.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you,” Fen replied sharply. “Can you ride?’

Lannie looked over at the liver gelding. The horse was impatient to be off, stamping his hoofs and nuzzling the stablehand familiarly.

“Not very well,” she admitted. “I can manage a really tame, gentle horse.” The gelding eyed her with disdain, snorted, then nudged the stablehand again. “Not one like that.”

“This is the horse I have.”

“Oh. I guess I’ll be going. Thanks anyway. Maybe someone else won’t be afraid of them.”

“I am not afraid of DelFino or Orlov,” Fen growled, stung and furious all over again. “Give me a minute while I rearrange Coppertail. You’ll be riding pillion and we’ll get the hell out of this hellhole.” He suited words to deeds and began swiftly rearranging Coppertail’s saddle and baggage to accommodate a second rider.

“You’re leaving Barsoom?” Lannie asked.

“Sure am. You coming along or not?”

Lannie looked around at the muddy livery stable’s grounds. No one was currently taking any interest in her and she had to do something quick to stay safely anonymous. It wouldn’t be long before someone figured out where she had run to. The livery stable wasn’t far from the cathedral and it, like the trolley, was an obvious and sensible destination that let her flee the city.

“Yes. Thank you. I’m Lannie.”

Fen mounted Coppertail and leaned down to Lannie, pulling her up behind him onto the gelding. “I’m Fen. Hang on tight.”

Lannie clutched Fen tightly around his waist, sitting up against him as close as possible. She had never ridden pillion before and it was a long way to fall. Fortunately, the coverall let her sit astride properly and not have to keep both legs to one side, like that ridiculous poufy gown would have forced her to. Fen didn’t waste time, urging Coppertail to an easy trot and they left the livery stable, trotted down the street a block and then he turned the horse again, up a new narrow street.

As she held on for dear life, Lannie wondered what on Mars she was doing, riding off with a shabby, low-caste stranger into the unknown. But whatever Fen was like, he probably wasn’t as dangerous as Rastislav Orlov would be. Probably. She bit her lip. As long as she didn’t tell him about the Pearls of Orlov, that is.

* * *

Fen set a brisk pace, with Lannie clinging tightly to him. It was never unpleasant to have a girl’s arms around his waist, no matter what the circumstances were. It was especially pleasant getting a little revenge on DelFino and Orlov, those sodding bastards. He’d have to find out what Lannie had done but it had been easy to see how desperate and afraid she was. Like Astrid, she had probably said no to one of those risto princelings. He wondered how far she needed to travel to escape them. As for him, he planned on heading straight north, up the Pole-to-Pole corridor and then turn east at Darnay. That corridor led directly to Robinsin and home and spring was far enough advanced that it would be warm enough to use. He’d drop Lannie off on the way, wherever she wanted to go.

* * *

Many streets and turns later, Lannie finally dared ask where they were going. Fen kept his horse — Coppertail! — to a brisk, steady trot, weaving up one street and then another with an obvious destination in mind. Despite his turns, they kept heading in the same direction. Nothing looked familiar, but then, looking around, Lannie knew these streets wouldn’t. The district they were traveling through was poor. Members of the Four Hundred never came here to shop in the dingy stores or eat in the hole-in-the-wall cafés. Maybe someone like Charlton would come here slumming, to carouse and drink in the seedy bars. No. Lannie stopped herself. She didn’t know what Charlton would do, although she did know there were gentlemen of the Four Hundred who would slum and drink and whore around in seedy bars. She was treating her brother as though what daddy said about him was the honest truth. Daddy who poisoned mama for reasons of his own. Daddy who tried to sell her to the daimyo of Orlov to pay off gambling debts, debts he had acquired using money he stole from their peasants.

Charlton, for all his faults, would have never harmed mama. He was desperate to save mama. Unlike daddy, Charlton had been working hard to save their little corner of DelFino and all the peasants who lived there.

Why hadn’t her brother bothered to save her?

For the first time, she began to wonder why Charlton kept telling her not to worry practically since the day daddy told her she was marrying the daimyo of Orlov. What had Charlton not been able to say? How well did Dimitri Orlov know Charlton, that he joined her brother in a fight in a stable yard to rescue Walter whom he hated? And Walter fighting? Those were darn good questions she didn’t have answers for. Her tangled thoughts over her brother made her look for an answer to another question.

“Fen,” Lannie ventured. “Where are we going?”

“I’m going home. To HighTower.”

“Oh. Where’s that?” Gleesh, Lannie thought, shamed again. I don’t know anything and here I rag on Charlton all the time for being ignorant and stupid.

“It’s a demesne in the Ennaretee. Really far north of here.”

“Oh.” Did she want to travel that far north? Where did she want to go? She could run to Shondra Sakamoto. She lived somewhere in Barsoom, although Lannie would never find her without Shondra’s current address and a map. And someone to show her how to navigate Barsoom’s trolley network. However, anyone who knew how close she and Shondra were might go hunt up her friend, find Lannie hiding there, and cause her no end of trouble. Shondra had enough troubles dealing with her ex-husband and the rest of the Sakamoto family. She didn’t need Lannie adding to them.

There was also Ranaglia. It was mama’s home demesne. It had been a few years since they had visited mama’s relatives. Ranaglia was an agricultural demesne up north and on the western side of the Pole-to-Pole corridor so it was sort of on the way for Fen. Would they take her in? Or would her relatives there turn her over to DelFino at once or worse, hand her over to Orlov. Lannie chewed on her lip, thinking hard. She didn’t really know those relatives, certainly not well enough to hazard a guess as to how they would react to her just showing up out of the blue.

It was so hot and uncomfortable, clinging to Fen on Coppertail’s hindquarters where no one should sit. She wiggled up against Fen, trying to get more comfortable, while she thought about where she wanted to go.

She had all of Mars to choose from and she knew very little about any of it.

“I’d like to stay with you for a while, if you don’t mind. At least until we get out of Barsoom.”

Fen could feel every movement Lannie made, wiggling behind him on Coppertail as she sought a comfortable position. Nothing unpleasant about that at all, although she felt oddly lumpy instead of soft and cushiony like girls should feel. He wondered what she had stashed in her coverall pockets. It felt like river pebbles, which was weird.

“That’ll take another day. I worked out the shortest route but even so, we’ll have to sleep rough in a thicket tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll be outside the city limits and then at the end of the day, we’ll be on the steppes.

“That long?” Lannie asked worriedly. That allowed plenty of time for Rastislav to find her.

It never took long to travel to Barsoom from her corner of DelFino, even though it was about as far away from Barsoom as you could get and still remain within DelFino’s vast holdings. She could hear Ulla’s voice as clearly as if she trotted alongside them on her white mare: “because we travel by train, moron.”

“Yeah,” Fen said. “That long. I never in my life saw as big or as crowded a city as Barsoom. I am taking the shortest route north, otherwise we’d spend another full day reaching the steppes.”

Lannie looked around again, thinking about what she’d seen from the train.

“This doesn’t look like the Pole-to-Pole corridor.”

“Because it’s not. We’re parallel, a few streets over, so we’re not caught up in the traffic on that road. It’s a little faster. It might rain later, so we’ve got to move.”

“That’s clever of you,” Lannie said. She’d escape Barsoom and not be noticed at all. But what would she do about mama? She had to tell Charlton, and Ulla too, what daddy had done with Mistress Vaughn. There were public telephones in the free-cities, but she’d never used one. Their branch of the family didn’t rate a telephone of any kind. They didn’t have a skynet connection either. Daddy, she thought with a sigh, would have sold them and wasted the money. She’d have to send a postcard. If she could get one without any money. And a stamp. She wondered if Fen knew how to read and write, or if he could recognize a mailbox when he saw one.

It was agonizing to realize how unprepared she was. Rain. Gleesh. She glanced upwards. Worryingly, the sky was slowly filling with clouds. Fen wasn’t lying. They might sleep in a thicket in the rain on wet grass. She shuddered and resolved to not say anything that would slow him down. Maybe they would ride far enough and fast enough to outrun the rain.

The day passed slowly, the streets of Barsoom changing subtly but never becoming less crowded or the buildings shorter or any public feature she recognized coming into view. As the sun slowly, slowly sank into the cloud-filled west, Lannie got hungrier and hungrier, more and more tired, and she was desperately thirsty. She didn’t dare ask Fen to stop for fear he’d dump her off and leave her, lost and alone in a very seedy neighborhood. At least the rain held off. How was he managing to ignore hunger, thirst, and an aching body? His horse was impressive too. Coppertail maintained a steady, easy, ground-eating trot, despite carrying both of them.

* * *

“I’ve been here before,” Dimitri said, looking around. The livery stable’s open yard was painfully familiar, right down to the muddy, horse-shit littered straw. The area where he, Charlton, and Walter had fought with that scruffy stablehand looked freshly raked; probably because someone had noticed his lost pearls and searched thoroughly, snatching each pearl up out of the muck. Stablehands wouldn’t recognize the pearls were fake.

“Really?” Ulla said, brightening. “The staff should be helpful, then. And this livery stable is close to the cathedral so if Lannie hired a horse and carriage, she wouldn’t go any further. Look! A trolley stop, too, right down the street. We’ll find her quick.”

“Ah,” Dimitri said. “There’s the owner.”

He strode confidently up towards the paunchy man directing operations by one of the wings of the stable.

“I’m Dimitri Orlov,” he announced. “I’m looking for my lost cousin, Yilanda DelFino.”

The owner went still at the remembered voice; he considered the man standing before him carefully for a moment. So this was what the Orlov princeling looked like without a blanket of mud and shit. His eyebrow was scabbed over. Fen must have caught him across the face. Gleesh. So that’s where the scattering of pearls had come from; this risto was rich enough to have pearls sewn to his clothes. The attractive blonde accompanying the Orlov princeling looked much the worse for wear, overdressed for visiting a stable and badly dressed for anything else. Her hair looked like a rat’s nest.

“We haven’t seen any lost DelFino relatives, sir,” Mr. Cardozo replied pleasantly.

“Are you sure?” Ulla demanded, jabbing a finger towards the livery stable owner’s chest. “I’m Ulla DelFino and I have to find my cousin right away.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mr. Cardozo replied. “I am sure.”

“I’ll have to talk to your staff,” Ulla said. “Maybe one of them saw her. She’s wearing a huge, poufy light-yellow ballgown made of shimmery cloth.”

“Uh huh,” the owner said, nonplussed. “Sounds conspicuous. If anyone came here wearing a ballgown, we’d notice. We’d be standing around talking about it for the next year. Chuck!”

One of the stablehands came running up.

“Yes, sir?”

“Ask around if any of the lads have seen a young lady running about in a shiny yellow ballgown.”

Chuck didn’t hide his snickers when he looked over at Ulla, frowning terribly and tapping her foot and Dimitri, staring around the stable yard as though he was paying attention to it for the first time.

“Sure thing, boss.” He ran back to the cluster of watching grooms.

Even from where she was standing, Ulla could hear the snickers and rude remarks and see the amused looks. None of these people were going to be useful.

“Thank you,” she said. “If you do manage to remember something useful, contact me at DelFino’s Barsoom townhouse. Dimitri, let’s check the trolley stop.”

“I don’t know,” Dimitri said. “It seems more likely to me that Lannie would ride a horse rather than ride the trolley. I mean, what lady of the Four Hundred would ever get on a public trolley?”

Gleesh. Ulla forced herself to keep her eyes still. “For your information” — the word ‘moron’ was heard clearly by Dimitri, Mr. Cardozo, and Chuck, even though she didn’t say it aloud — “I have ridden on the trolley. Also, Lannie can barely manage the tamest mare and that’s with someone else saddling the horse, leading it to a mounting block, and she’d have to change into suitable riding clothes. She’d have to hire a carriage wearing that dress.

“We’re wasting time. Let’s go.” She grabbed Dimitri’s hand, dragging him out of the stable yard and towards the trolley stop, mentally checking the livery stable off her list.

The livery stable owner silently watched them go. When the Orlov princeling and the screechy-voiced, blonde DelFino harpy were safely out of sight and down the street, he said, “Chuck. Do you know when Fen left?”

“About twenty minutes ago, Mr. Cardozo.”

“Good.”

“He took someone with him, boss. A girl who’d been crying for days, it looked like. A little older than Astrid, but not by much.”

The owner spat into the dirt, looking momentarily furious. “Wearing a shiny yellow ballgown?”

Chuck laughed heartily. “No.”

“Pass the word,” Mr. Cardozo said. “Nobody saw nothing, not if it has anything to do with our Fen, DelFino or Orlov.” He patted the pocket holding the scattered pearls, salvaged from the mucky stable yard. They’d become part of Astrid’s dowry.

“Yes, sir,” Chuck replied.


	19. A deal with the devil

Charlton took Iolanthe’s arm and they slowly walked down the sidewalk to the nearest trolley stop, inconveniently located at the far end of the block. Charlton watched with resignation as the trolley roared past them, stopped, disgorged and picked up passengers and roared away just as they were approaching its roofed-over bench. Further evidence his luck, while turning, was still taking its time about it.

“I’m so sorry,” Iolanthe murmured. “I can’t walk that fast.”

Her leg and hip were aching and she wanted to sit down more than anything, even if Rastislav were chasing after them and the heavens opened up as they had been threatening to. She wouldn’t have made it if Charlton hadn’t supported her, letting her put weight on his arm as well as on her cane. She found herself intensely grateful to Barsoom’s sidewalk contractors. Their handiwork was smooth and even; unlike Nourz’s web of tripping hazards.

“No worries,” Charlton said. “You’ll have time to rest your leg while we wait for the next trolley. We’re lucky it’s not raining yet.”

“I’ve never ridden on a trolley before,” Iolanthe said, searching for something to say that wasn’t about the weather or birdwatching, like she would have done back home in Orlov. She’d never have to think of something new and interesting about warbler feather patterns or the beauty of cloud formations again. That was a positive mark in the ledger.

“Trolleys can be noisy and crowded, but they’re cheap and they go all over the city,” Charlton said. “I use them all the time in Barsoom.”

He helped Iolanthe sit comfortably and rearrange her skirts. Once seated and off her feet, she was able to look around curiously. She was the only woman wearing a veil, earning her many curious stares in return.

“I’ve never been in Barsoom either,” she said. “What an enormous city. It’s far bigger than Nourz.”

“Largest free-city on Mars by a huge margin,” Charlton said. “Only Panschin comes close. Sorry. I’m sure you know that.”

He was restless; not happy sitting and not happy standing and peering into the distance as if by sheer will, he could make a trolley show up one minute earlier than the posted time. They had a long wait ahead of them. Fortunately, this trolley stop had a broad roof providing sun and rain protection.

Iolanthe watched him get up, sit down, get up and pace a few steps, and then sit back down. He didn’t seem anxious about being with her. He had been far more solicitous of her needs than she would have expected; particularly since she was plain, lame, penniless, and would get no backing from Orlov unless Dimitri did successfully knife the sot and her own father took command of the demesne. Walter and Albion had both been blunt about her value. She knew the facts but they were still painful to hear from someone else.

However, Charlton’s actions demonstrated he didn’t care what his cousin or his father had to say. Or, possibly, his daimyo either.

“You’re worried about your sister,” she deduced.

“Yeah,” Charlton said. “Everything went wrong. Everything.”

Ah. The plan he and Dimitri had concocted, ancestors save them. There was nothing Charlton could do about Lannie at the moment. What _she_ could do was distract him, at least for a little bit. She’d also get some of her own questions answered.

“You still wish to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“A marriage performed by the justice of the peace is not any more legal for the Four Hundred than that travesty at the cathedral would have been. Why do you wish to do this?”

Charlton sat back down and took her hand in his. It was unexpected and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. His hand felt so strong, cupping her own and resting on her thigh. She could feel its weight and heat, a startling and novel sensation, just as it was startling and novel to sit so close to a man and feel his energy and heat radiate from his body to hers.

“To demonstrate to everyone in DelFino and in Orlov that I mean what I say. To give you some legal standing. To prove intent.”

She stared straight ahead into the busy street, rather than meet his dark, piercing eyes. Charlton DelFino would never be handsome, but he was something better. He was interesting and very, very male.

“I must be blunt. I have no place to go. I have no money. I have no one closer than Nourz who will help me. I have no powerful family backing me. I have to rescue my maid, Nelly, from the Orlov townhouse or the sot will rape her and beat her to death in his fury over losing your sister and the Pearls. Nonetheless, I have questions you must answer before I marry you.”

He smiled suddenly, his face lighting up.

“You’re just like Dimitri said you would be.”

She glanced over at him. “Let’s start there. How well do you know my brother?”

“Dimitri is my best friend. We met a few years back at a gym here in Barsoom. He likes boxing and so do I. Sometimes we’d end up at the same school and then I’d flunk out, but we always reconnected at the gym.”

“Ah. You must know much more about Orlov and our situation than anyone suspects.”

“Yeah, I do. We talked a lot about what we both needed and wanted for the future. Dimitri’s spent a lot of time worrying about you as well as Orlov.”

“I love my brother,” Iolanthe said. “He’s very dear to me. That said, I would not consider him to be unbiased about my circumstances. I am plain, —”

“Stop right there,” Charlton interrupted. “I know all that shit and it is shit. Looks don’t mean much to me. My mother was and still is one of the most beautiful women on Mars. My father was known for his handsomeness and charm. I know firsthand beauty doesn’t have much to do with character or working hard. I’m built like a low-caste thug, same as a lot of my Ranaglia uncles. I don’t look like DelFino like Walter does and I get marked down because I don’t look like family.”

Iolanthe giggled. “Bruised, beaten up, and with a broken nose?”

Charlton snickered. “Walter usually looks like a golden prince. I’ll admit, I enjoyed breaking his damn nose over what he said to you.”

“It still seems excessive.”

“He had it coming for plenty of reasons. Dimitri probably didn’t have time to tell you about the fight in the livery stable’s yard.”

“Gracious, no,” Iolanthe sputtered in shock. “A stable yard? Was that why his clothes were damp and stained and he had that scabby eyebrow?”

“Yeah,” Charlton said. “Here’s what happened.”

When he finished, Iolanthe said, “Oh dear. Walter DelFino attempted to rape an underage girl?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know the circumstances when Dimitri and I saw what was happening or I would have let that scruffy stablehand with the ridiculous braid pound Walter into paste. Walter’s done this before, back in my corner of DelFino.”

Iolanthe shifted to stare at Charlton. “Oh dear. Often?”

“I’ve heard rumors. One incident that I know of for sure. I caught him going after one of my scullery maids and educated him. After that, he left _my_ housemaids and peasant girls alone. It didn’t make him easier to live with. I needed Walter to teach me what my dad never bothered about and he knew it. I knew he was Zachery’s main source of information about me and there wasn’t much I could do about the situation.”

Charlton sighed and leaned back against the bench, staring past the eaves of the trolley shelter up at the lowering sky. “I despise Walter, but he’s very competent. Even as young as he is, he could probably run a demesne. I don’t think there was anything he didn’t know about estate management and if he didn’t know, he knew how to find out. I knew almost nothing.”

“Does his father, the daimyo, know about his, um, hobby?” She curled her lip in contempt. She had judged Walter DelFino’s character correctly in the cathedral.

“I’m positive Zachery doesn’t know and I’m positive Walter wants to keep it that way. His father, the daimyo, would not be happy. I told Walter I wouldn’t tell, as long as he taught me what I had to know to save my estates in DelFino.”

“A deal with the devil,” Iolanthe commented.

“Yeah. I didn’t like it but I was stuck. Who would believe me instead of that golden prince? I’ve got over a hundred people depending on me.” Charlton groaned again, tightening his hand around hers as though he was deriving some comfort from touching her.

“My grandfather did almost nothing to run our corner of DelFino. My dad was worse. It never mattered to him what our peasants needed, how the land was faring, how everyone ate and stayed out of the weather. I started taking over a few years ago, but I had to learn everything the hard way, bit by bit by doing things with my own hands. I can’t learn from books. When I asked my dad, he sneered at me for caring about peasants. Mama didn’t sneer, but she wasn’t interested in running an estate or even our household. She likes parties, flowers, and painting flowers with thread. She’s an artist and a good one, but boring day-to-day necessities don’t matter much to her. Asking grandfather was a waste of time. He’s a mean drunk.”

“Oh dear,” Iolanthe said. “I’m saying that a lot. Forgive me. Much of this sounds painfully familiar. The sot’s line has been actively destroying Orlov and the rest of us have to manage as best we can to keep things going.”

“Dimitri said you would understand. Looks don’t matter to me. Behavior does. I need a wife who can accept marrying a worthless DelFino black sheep and who will work with me to save my corner of DelFino. A wife who will care about my family, my servants, and my peasants.”

He squeezed her hand again. “Dimitri said you were smart, you worked hard, you took care of family, you cared about your people. He said you never whinged about being lame. You got on with it and you didn’t give up.”

“Dimitri is a sweetheart,” Iolanthe said. “But he is biased in my favor.”

Charlton twisted on the hard bench to gaze into her eyes. “Dimitri also said you could be bossy and you let your imagination run away with you.”

She laughed. “Sometimes I am. I often do.”

“He said I would never regret marrying you.”

“That was very generous of him,” Iolanthe replied.

Her mind raced. Charlton was offering her what she’d always wanted: a household of her own, the chance of children, acceptance, people who needed her and her skills. A place where she’d be valued and could make a real difference. An escape from Orlov. He didn’t say one word of love, but she could live with that. It might come, in time. Or not. He was proposing what a marriage in the Four Hundred so often was: a business partnership that produced children and kept the larger family strong and wealthy.

It wasn’t like she had much choice. Dimitri thought Charlton was a good match for her and she now knew at least some of the reasons her brother hadn’t admitted during all those conversations in Orlov.

But Charlton owed responsibilities to his sister, responsibilities he hadn’t taken care of that she had observed. She’d watched Yilanda’s, no, Lannie’s, terror. Whatever plan Charlton had concocted with Dimitri, he hadn’t bothered telling his sister.

Iolanthe plunged in. “I can see why you might wish to marry me, despite having no dowry.”

“You are your own dowry.”

“Money is more useful.”

He laughed harshly. “Yeah. As long as it isn’t wasted over dice or on horseraces.”

She gritted her teeth. “But you must tell me why you didn’t save Lannie. That travesty of a wedding ceremony should have never happened.”

Charlton slumped back on the bench. “It was the money. We didn’t know what was wrong with mama. I never thought dad was poisoning her with Mistress Vaughn helping. I can’t believe Ulla figured it out when I never twigged. The manor house is crumbling around our ears. The roof leaks, the windows leak, the foundations are cracked, anything small and valuable was sold, you get the idea.”

He stopped and squeezed her hand again.

“Then there’s the village that goes with the manor house and the estate. My peasants haven’t had good leadership in years. They keep themselves fed, but badly. They need me to represent them to DelFino. Taxes have to be paid. Crops have to be brought in and sold. Livestock bred and sold. We’re supposed to get coin back for our use from DelFino. Extra if we need it. Dad stole it all. Every building in the village needs rethatching. The mill race has to be redug because it’s silted up, along with all the irrigation ditches. The millstones have to be replaced. The roads need to be regraded. The proceeds from our harvests should have been reinvested in the land and the people. They weren’t.”

He paused again, to stare into her eyes. “My peasants need me. They have no one else who will care like I do, if someone else from DelFino gets assigned to my land. Their kids are sickly because they’re hungry. I needed the money. So Dimitri and I worked out a plan to kidnap Lannie back after the sot paid my dad her bride price. I’d rob my own father, pay for mama’s care, and put the rest of the coin back into my corner of DelFino. I don’t care if his creditors break his legs.”

“Gracious,” Iolanthe said, after she spent all of thirty seconds mentally dissecting Charlton and Dimitri’s scheme. “In the future, may I recommend you involve me in your plans? I can see problems with the one you and Dimitri worked out.” Ulla was right: They couldn’t organize a four wagon parade, although Ulla should have been more tactful.

“Yeah. I will.”

“But why didn’t you tell Lannie?” Iolanthe persisted. “I’ve never seen anyone so terrified. She must have been crying for weeks.”

Charlton sighed again, louder, and slumped back still more. He stared straight out at the street, as if seeing something else.

She waited patiently.

“I couldn’t. Lannie can’t lie worth a damn. She gets the giggles, gets all nervous. We don’t get along and if I told her, I didn’t know if she’d trust me. I was afraid she’d let it slip to dad, mama, or one of the servants who’d tell dad. I couldn’t tell mama. She loves the idea of Lannie becoming the daimyah and wearing the Pearls. I don’t trust Walter. He doesn’t care about Lannie or about us. Ulla, though.”

Charlton sighed again. “Ulla was the hardest decision. I did not know what she would do or say. She always does her duty, no matter what it costs her or anyone else. Zachery wanted the marriage but for different reasons than dad. Business deals throughout the eastern markets, you know? And he didn’t have to provide a dowry, the cheap sod, even though DelFino can afford it. If the daimyo wants something done, then Ulla will back the daimyo’s decisions to the hilt. I’m still not sure if Ulla would have helped me rescue Lannie. I mean before she worked out what my dad was doing to mama.”

He paused, looking bewildered. “Ulla kept ranting about trousseaus for no reason I could see, except that brides need one. Like she’d been drinking Mistress Vaughn’s tisanes like mama has. She never said one word to anyone about her suspicions, but she couldn’t shut up about how brides need trousseaus and how she would ensure Lannie got the very best.”

Iolanthe considered this odd behavior compared to the intensely practical and capable woman she met at the cathedral. “Ulla talked about trousseaus for Lannie? When?”

“From soon after we left home, the carriage trip to the train station, during the train ride. She never gave it a rest,” Charlton replied, looking baffled. “Ulla! Dogs get more excited over a shopping spree.”

Iolanthe giggled suddenly. “I think I know. Shopping sprees for trousseaus involve large department stores with private fitting rooms and,” she giggled again “backdoors into alleys.”

Charlton smacked his forehead with his hand. “Gleesh. She was going to kidnap Lannie and spirit her away while she worked out what dad was doing to mama. I should have told Ulla on the train.”

“Probably,” Iolanthe said. “But since none of you talked to each other, no one knew what anyone else was doing.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t tell Lannie anything, except not to worry. The carriage ride to the cathedral was agony. Lannie sobbed the whole way and I couldn’t say one damn thing to make it better. I had to rescue her and I couldn’t, Dimitri had run to catch you before the sot left and didn’t make it, and dad gloated over the money he’d get selling my sister to the sot. Walter wasn’t any help. Lannie cried and cried and I had to watch, praying I could save her, save mama, and save my peasants.”

Iolanthe watched a few tears squeeze past his tightly closed eyes. Tears, from Charlton DelFino. He snorted and angrily wiped his eyes dry.

“Lannie will never forgive me. Even if we find her, she’ll think I’m lying about trying to save her. And the worst part?”

She squeezed his hand reassuringly. She’d never touched an ungloved man’s hand before that didn’t belong to a close relative. Charlton’s callused hand was warm and large, larger than Dimitri’s, with thickened, scarred knuckles. From boxing, she supposed.

“Tell me.”

“I would do it again. I’d put Lannie through hell because I have over a hundred people depending on me. She’s my sister and I’d torture her because I still can’t think of a better way to rescue her, mama, and everyone else. Zachery won’t help because of my dad and grandfather. He gets Walter’s reports and assumes I’m just like them. I am stupid, just like dad says,” Charlton said despairingly.

“I don’t believe you’re stupid. Or that you’re a worthless black sheep. Your father put you in an untenable situation and you did the best you could,” Iolanthe said. “Blame him.”

“Oh, I do.” Charlton laughed harshly. “I will hang my father with my own hands in the village square where everyone can see and not feel a second of regret.” He said more softly, “I wish I could have done more, something that would have kept all this shit from happening. Something that would save Lannie.”

“Dimitri and Ulla will find her. I don’t know Ulla but she seems remarkably capable.”

Charlton grinned. “She is. If anyone can find Lannie, it will be Ulla.”

* * *

“I cannot understand why no one we’ve spoken to saw Lannie,” Ulla said and swore like a stablehand, making Dimitri stare at her in consternation. He didn’t have a comprehensive vocabulary like hers, at least not in front of a lady.

She turned on Dimitri, making him back up a step at her expression and jabbing finger. “You saw her, right? You saw her shiny yellow ballgown? Was she actually wearing such an absurd dress?”

“Yes, she was,” Dimitri admitted. “I only saw her for a minute, when we all left the DelFino townhouse. That gown was about all I could see. It was overpowering, the biggest ballgown I’ve ever seen. She must have been wearing twenty petticoats underneath it to fluff out all that shiny cloth. Pretty color, but a bad color for her.”

Ulla frowned and began chewing on her second littlest fingernail on her right hand. She was nearing the quick on this one too.

“I am missing something. I know I am. No one could miss seeing Lannie in that gown unless they were blind. She can’t be running around in her underwear, because then where’s the gown? And she’d still be noticed, even in Barsoom.”

“Maybe she changed clothes?” Dimitri suggested.

“And where would she have gotten them from in a cathedral chapel, pray tell?” Ulla said. “Plus, a gown like what’s been described to me requires a lady’s maid to get in and out of it.”

Dimitri chuckled and winked. “I’ve helped many ladies out of their gowns and back in again without a lady’s maid around.”

Ulla wasted several moments seriously considering shoving Dimitri under the approaching trolley for being such an idiot. No wonder whatever plan he and Charlton had concocted to save Lannie failed. Then it struck her.

“Lannie changed clothes.”

“I already said that, Ulla.”

“Shut up while I think.”

Dimitri reminded himself through gritted teeth that _he_ was not the unlucky slobbo who would have to marry Ulla DelFino. He didn’t have to like her to work with her. He just had to pretend — harder — he was dealing with Iolanthe, who would never have been so tactless. He waited quietly, thinking hard as to where Lannie could have gone, based on what Charlton had told him about his sister. He kept getting distracted, thinking of the huge shiny yellow ballgown, how it overwhelmed Lannie, how awful it made her complexion look, and how anyone could manage to shimmy out of it without help.

It was almost like the dress had been deliberately selected to be enormous, dreadful, and conspicuous.

Where had that dress come from?

“Ulla?”

“Shut up, Dimitri.”

“No, Ulla. Listen to me,” Dimitri insisted. “Who chose that gown? It wasn’t Lannie. Whoever chose that gown made sure to get something so overpowering it’s all anyone can think about, as though Lannie doesn’t exist outside of that flashy gown. We’re not looking for Lannie. We’re looking for the flashy yellow ballgown.”

Ulla went very still, then sat down hard on the trolley stop’s bench.

“Hey! You two getting on the trolley or not?” the conductor yelled out to them and clanged his bell challengingly.

Ulla leaped back to her feet, reenergized. She took a quick look at the scheduled stops. None of them were as fast or direct as walking.

“No. Go ahead without us,” she yelled back.

To Dimitri, she said “we have to go back to the cathedral and search that chapel for clues. Someone must have left a change of clothes for Lannie and waited for her on the outside at the window. Someone planned her escape a lot better than you and Charlton. The gown is part of the plan.”

“Insulting me and Charlton won’t get Lannie rescued,” Dimitri replied. If he could be direct with Iolanthe, he could be direct with Ulla. Besides, it would be good for her.

She frowned and fanned her hands, displaying how ragged her fingernails were becoming. She’d also nibbled off the polish in spots, making her nails look diseased. “You’re right. Dimitri, I will be honest. I am terrified we’re going to find Lannie’s body. I like Lannie but she doesn’t think. Worse, she’s carrying you-know-what. Other people will murder her for them and you know it.”

“True, true,” Dimitri said. Gleesh. Ulla could apologize. Would wonders never cease. But she was right. Lannie’s life was at stake as well as the lives of everyone in Orlov if they didn’t find her first. Worse, he’d accept Lannie’s death if it meant he recovered the Pearls. He couldn’t tell Ulla, or anyone. Certainly not Charlton. But it was true. The wellbeing of everyone in his demesne was more important than his best friend’s sister.

They walked rapidly down the street, heading toward the back of the cathedral.

“If I can figure out who bought the dress, then we’ve got something,” Ulla said, thinking out loud. “It wasn’t Lannie, or me, or Gods know, auntie Constance. Charlton wouldn’t have known where to buy a ballgown and, based on what you’ve said, you and him had a different plan. No one in DelFino would have provided a gown or they’d have been at the cathedral and I’m including Zachery, who can be a real cheapskate. I think we can safely omit Rastislav, along with the servants at the townhouse. That leaves two people who are involved in this fiasco.”

“Albion and Walter.”

“Yeah,” Ulla said. “Albion and Walter. I don’t like Albion. He’s a slab of poisonous ham. He very badly needs Lannie to wed Rastislav. He didn’t want anything to stop the wedding. But I can’t believe Albion would have chosen a gown that made Lannie look bad _and_ one that would upstage him. He would have chosen something simple, adequate, and boring.”

“That leaves Walter,” Dimitri said, feeling his way through his unruly, jumbled thoughts. An idea kept appearing and disappearing about Walter DelFino and everything Charlton had mentioned about his cousin. “You know Walter far better than I do.” The livery stable incident waved at him insistently, as though it were important. “But you don’t know this. Charlton and I kept him from being pounded into paste by a stablehand.”

Ulla stopped striding along. “Walter fought with a stablehand? That’s why he looked like a punching bag? I don’t believe you. That was Charlton’s doing. Those two hate each other.”

“Believe me.” Dimitri held up a wrist, displaying his lace cuff, the color of stained teeth. It was ripped in spots. “This used to be snow-white. We saw the fight, intervened, and then discovered the stablehand caught Walter attacking the livery stable owner’s pretty daughter. She was young, younger than Lannie.”

“I don’t believe you. I just can’t.”

“Like you can’t believe Albion poisoned his wife?” Dimitri asked. “That’s unbelievable too.”

“Albion had a reason. Money,” Ulla said firmly. “What reason would Walter have to go after some livery stable girl? What reason would Walter have to provide Lannie with a flashy ballgown? He knows as well as I do that Lannie didn’t want to marry Rastislav. He wouldn’t have spent his coin.”

“He bought the gown because he wanted to rescue her, just like Charlton and I did. The gown was part of _his_ plan, the one that made us look for the gown and not for Lannie. Why didn’t _you_ try to rescue Lannie?”

“I did!” Ulla shot back. “I couldn’t get that damn Albion to stop and shop for a trousseau for Lannie. I’d have gotten Lannie hustled out the backdoor of the department store and safely into a hotel room while I figured out what that damn ham was doing to her mother.”

“That sounds about as good a plan as mine and Charlton’s.”

“It was a much better plan. Quit saying crazy things and shut up, Dimitri.”

“I won’t, Ulla. Walter is the only person left. I don’t know him. You do. He’s the daimyo’s son. He’s very capable. He knows what DelFino needs for future growth, like access to the eastern markets. Is he the kind of man to rescue a damsel because she needs help, without there being something in it for him?”

“I don’t know,” Ulla said and began walking again, her face cold and set. She couldn’t get the image of Walter’s face out of her head, where, even with the bloody handkerchief in the way and the shiner he was developing, he was gloating. She couldn’t stop her hand reaching her mouth and began chewing on another fingernail.

“Ulla?”

“Shut up, Dimitri.” She wrenched her hand away from her mouth.

Dimitri groaned. “Quit being so rude and people might quit calling you a harpy. You should know we call Rastislav the sot. It describes him perfectly and then we don’t lend him power by using his name.”

Ulla stopped walking and gave Dimitri the side-eye.

“Sure. I can call him the sot.”

Barking mad, the lot of them and wasting time on inconsequentials. But was DelFino any better with a wife-poisoner like Albion as part of the family? Walter was gloating. Walter was intelligent and capable. Walter despised Charlton and loathed Albion more. Walter liked Lannie. Walter was intelligent, competent, and more than capable of planning ahead. But Walter never did anything that didn’t benefit himself in some way. How did rescuing Lannie from the sot benefit him? She started chewing on a new nail, the fifth one. The previous four were down to the painful quick, stripped of polish, and the cuticles raw.

If Dimitri was telling the truth about the fight in the stable yard, she couldn’t avoid the dreadful answer.

Walter liked young, pretty girls. He was discreet, but she had heard rumors about his taste for sweet sixteens. From what she had heard, he only indulged himself outside of DelFino. Barsoom was an excellent hunting ground because those girls were disposable, with no titled family to protect them. Walter, one of DelFino’s golden princes, got everything he wanted, except what he wanted most on Mars. Walter, because he was the daimyo’s son, would never be elected the daimyo himself. Charlton was more likely to be elected daimyo than Walter. He was already showing promise even if Walter refused to admit it. Resentment was another reason for Walter to hate Charlton and want to hurt him. And there was Lannie at the center of it all. Charlton’s young, pretty, virgin sister; a damsel needing to be rescued by a handsome, golden prince.

* * *

“Any other questions?” Charlton asked.

Iolanthe smiled out at the street. He was starting to relax, just as she had hoped. Reminding him that Ulla and Dimitri would be sure to find Lannie was reassuring.

“I have lots and lots. I think I can understand why you didn’t tell Lannie. But why didn’t Dimitri tell me? Did he say? I’m going to quiz him, you know, the instant I see him. _I_ can keep a secret.”

It was offensive; the concept that she couldn’t be relied upon to play her part correctly, like Lannie apparently couldn’t.

“We talked about that,” Charlton admitted. “Dimitri says you’re a good planner. But we decided not to, because if we got caught,”

“Which you might very well have,” Iolanthe interrupted.

“Right. If we got caught, you wouldn’t know anything. You’d be safe, innocent like your dad and your uncle and aunt and first cousins.”

“Dimitri actually believed that innocence would protect someone from the sot?”

Charlton sighed. “It was the best we could do, with you trapped in Orlov. Once you were outside of Orlov’s townhouse, off their territory, Dimitri and I were going to tell you. That’s why he ran back to get you. You’d be safe with DelFino. Your father would be safe back at Orlov and obviously uninvolved along with the rest of your relatives.”

“But the sot changed his plans.”

“Yeah. He screwed us all.”

“Yes, he’s good at that. Is Lannie really that incompetent? You and Dimitri trying to save her, Ulla trying to save her. Gracious. Walter might have been trying to save her.”

Charlton frowned. “Not him. He hates me, the feeling is mutual, he loathes my father, despises my grandfather, but he’s fine with Lannie and mama. Even so, I can’t see him putting himself out to help Lannie. Walter only does what benefits him and I don’t see how he could benefit from helping Lannie.”

“This is true,” Iolanthe said. “Oh! Is that the trolley? This will be so exciting.”

She smiled up at him. Despite all the trauma of the day, she was in Barsoom, a city she had always wanted to visit and never thought she would. She was sitting with a man who was willing to marry her, despite her handicaps. She would never have to return to Orlov. A new world beckoned to her.

“Yes, this is ours. We’ll have to change trolleys to get to the courthouse so you’ll see even more of the city.”

“How wonderful,” Iolanthe said and daringly squeezed his hand.

* * *

“Permanently askew?” Walter demanded. “Permanently? I’m going to spend the rest of my life with a crooked nose?”

“I’m afraid so, my lord,” the doctor at the emergency clinic replied. “You shouldn’t have waited so long after the injury to come in for treatment. We might be able to rebreak your nose in a few weeks and reset it, but no guarantees that won’t make your nose worse. Or permanently damage your sinuses and ability to breathe.”

Walter slumped back on the examining table. At least his nose didn’t hurt so much (along with the rest of his body) thanks to the pain tea a nurse had given him. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it changed agony into a dull, maddening throb. The ice was helping with the swelling, along with the splint and bandages. He thought about the humiliation of having to sit in a bath of ice at the DelFino townhouse for the next week, while Charlton gloated. Gods alone knew what kind of story he’d tell. On the other hand, he didn’t have to return to DelFino’s townhouse. Keerkehgard maintained a townhouse and he could visit his mother’s family and tell them his side of the story before they heard lies from anyone else.

Damn Charlton and that damned stablehand. He would have his revenge somehow, if it took the rest of his life. He’d start with what he told his Keerkehgard relatives.

“Doctor?” a nurse charged into the examining room. “An emergency. A young woman was run over by a wagon. Severely broken arm, cracked ribs, internal damage, other injuries as well. Right now.”

The doctor said, “Wait here,” and ran out of the room.

Walter stared, fuming at the closed door. The hired carriage driver had brought him to this clinic, claiming it was the closest by far. It had been close, but this place wasn’t the Great Hospital of Barsoom, where as a DelFino, no doctor would have abandoned him to attend to some peasant.

He groaned and struggled to his feet. Sitting had made every bruise and sore muscle stiffen up. Walking was going to hurt. Might as well see what was going on, since it was clear _he_ wasn’t the star patient anymore.

The waiting room was bedlam. Walter stared at a teenage girl lying on a stretcher and screaming in agony. She was Lannie’s age, her arm broken enough that her white bones poked out of her ripped and bloody flesh. A host of shrieking relatives hovered around her, getting in the way of the medical team, along with some of Barsoom’s police force shouting questions.

Lannie. He had left the cathedral without a thought for Lannie, wandering lost in the streets of Barsoom in, in, that yellow ballgown? Her underwear? He didn’t know. There had been no time to get his own trusted servant — not a member of the DelFino townhouse staff — settled into place outside the cathedral window with a change of clothes. He had no idea how sweet naïve Lannie had managed to escape on her own.

Walter stood out of the way and observed how the medical staff gradually brought order out of chaos. They were surprisingly competent considering this wasn’t the Great Hospital. It was always worthwhile studying professionals in action. You never knew what you would learn against a future need. Plus, this incident would make a dramatic story over dinner someday. Albion, worthless as he was, had been correct about watching events all the time and recasting them into conversation fodder. This medical emergency would be so much more exciting for an audience than cloud formations.

A memory tugged at him, of a similar medical emergency.

Thankfully, the girl stopped screaming. Instead, she sobbed hopelessly like Lannie had during the carriage ride to the cathedral while the doctors got her stabilized and prepped, then hustled her out of the waiting room.

Walter frowned, thinking hard. He had left the cathedral without a backward glance, figuring Lannie would be quickly found and the Pearls of Orlov retrieved. But what if she wasn’t located? What if she wasn’t as helpless as everyone seemed to believe she was? Was she truly helpless? Or was she inexperienced; making it seem that she couldn’t take care of herself. She had, after all, managed to escape the cathedral’s chapel by herself. She must have shredded the ballgown, shimmying out of it on her own.

If Lannie was still missing, it was his duty and honor as a DelFino to search for her himself. Walter smiled, then winced. Moving any facial muscles would hurt for some time, along with the rest of his body. She’d be so grateful to him when he rescued her.

And she had the Pearls of Orlov, probably stuffed into a wadded-up petticoat. Lannie would be enjoyable. So sweet, so virginal, and so naïve. She’d give him herself and the Pearls without hesitating, because he was her own dear cousin, Walter, rescuing her from both the horrors of Barsoom and the daimyo of Orlov.

This time Walter did smile, despite the pain. He’d enjoy Lannie for as long as he wanted and he’d enjoy the Pearls of Orlov forever.

The memory of someone else’s medical emergency clarified, another thought struck him and a plan began to form. He’d be very careful in what he said to his Keerkehgard relatives. Andreas and Harcourt were in town and they were ideal candidates. If things went one way, he’d have some revenge on Charlton. If things went the other way, he’d settle an old and painful score for Akins, who couldn’t.


	20. How easily you discard your own flesh and blood

“You see why you need me,” Albion said confidently.

Delivery was everything. The audience never believed the story if the leading man didn’t believe what he was saying. Nothing worked better than the truth, larded with the occasional necessary, sincerely told lie.

Rastislav snorted loudly.

“You want the Pearls of Orlov, not your daughter. You plan on stealing them from her and from me.”

Albion took a dramatic step backwards and flung his hand across his brow, then lowered it to cover his heart. He needed a mirror to ensure his pose was at its best, but well, needs must. He should have spent another few minutes rehearsing.

“Everything I did, _everything_ , was for the benefit of my own dear daughter, Yilanda and her dear mama, my darling Constance.”

“I notice you do not include your son in that list,” Rastislav sneered.

“Charlton is no longer my son.”

“How easily you discard your own flesh and blood. And what about that village apothecary, Mistress Vaughn, the one the harpy accused you of dallying with?”

Albion smiled wearily, one man of the world commiserating with another. “She was necessary, for a time. Now, she no longer is. She understood the game we were playing.”

“I still do not see how poisoning your wife and selling me your daughter benefited them.”

Albion scoffed. “Selling? Selling? My little girl would have become the daimyah of Orlov! She could look no higher for a husband than you. She’d be draped in pearls and eat off gold plates and rule one of the great demesnes by your side.”

“Yes, she would have been my dear daimyah,” Rastislav admitted. “She was eager! She wrote me a letter to tell me so.”

Albion had no idea what Rastislav was talking about but he could adlib with the best of them. He really should have run away from DelFino when he had the chance and gone onstage.

“Yes, my daughter was eager to marry you, Rastislav. Her own words prove it. My darling Constance was all in favor of the match, as was my own daimyo, Zachery. It was her wretched brother, Charlton, who changed her mind with his lies. That harpy, Ulla, worked on Yilanda’s nerves and turned her against you. Those are the people you should blame.”

Albion watched Rastislav through veiled eyes. He would have to tread carefully. He almost had the hook set.

“And as for poisoning my dear Constance? That harpy chose the worst possible interpretation of the facts. Mistress Vaughn is very, very skilled. If I had wanted my Constance dead, she would have died months ago. I wanted my Constance ill enough to worry people. Then,” Albion gazed soulfully at Rastislav, urging him to trust, to believe, to accept every word he said.

“Then, once you had paid my Yilanda’s bride price, you would have the fertile, well-connected bride you desired and I and my Constance, miraculously recovered, would tour Mars. There is so much of the planet we have never visited and I want to show it all to my darling Constance while we can still enjoy traveling.”

Rastislav grinned, showing yellowed teeth.

“I think I understand. You planned to abandon your rundown estates, skip out on your creditors, leave Mistress Vaughn in the lurch, and then, when your money ran out, you would show up at Orlov and beg for sanctuary.”

“Well, you would be my son-in-law,” Albion said charmingly. “I so look forward to meeting the delightful grandsons I know you and my Yilanda will rear. I can’t deny myself or my darling Constance the joy of grandsons.” Gleesh. The raddled drunkard wasn’t completely stupid. He’d have to be careful.

“Huh. I suppose you have a point,” Rastislav said slowly. He thought of the sons he desperately craved and needed for his line to keep control of Orlov. Sons who would marry and produce grandsons. Every baby born at Orlov to the highest family member on down to the lowliest serf stabbed into him like a poisoned knife: he, the daimyo, with no children of his own, had no hope of grandchildren. He didn’t even have direct nephews of his own. Like him, his father and his grandfather had been onlies. If he died without issue, the family would choose who they liked as the next daimyo. Fredo was his closest genetic relative. Fredo was a drunken fool who had wasted his life. He would never be chosen, nor would his tainted son, Morley.

Yilanda’s genes were far from Orlov. She was many, many degrees of consanguinity away. DelFino was a prosperous family, fecund and healthy. Few of their family lines showed signs of barrenness. He could do worse. He had done worse: three marriages and only a useless stillborn daughter to show for them.

And she had the Pearls. He had to get her back to rescue the Pearls of Orlov. If he returned to Orlov without the Pearls, he might just as well cut his own throat right away and face Madame Orlov’s wrath in the afterlife. Returning to Orlov without the Pearls was a death sentence.

Rastislav carefully, through his pounding headache and his burning wrist, considered what Albion DelFino said. It was a pleasure to make that toad, that rotted slab of ham, wait for him while he pondered. Albion was correct on one point, damn him. Sweet, virginal Yilanda had been terrified into a severe case of bridal jitters by her worthless brother and the lying harpy. She might not willingly return when she came to her senses. Why should she? She carried the Pearls of Orlov and with those, she could buy her way into any demesne on Mars. Assuming she wasn’t murdered for them first.

Either way, the Pearls would be lost to Orlov forever.

“One other point, Rastislav,” Albion said, breaking into his thoughts.

“You wish to move into the Orlov townhouse and you need me to pay your bills?”

Albion crinkled his nose adorably and fanned his hands. “Well, yes, I do. I have no funds of my own as you know. But that’s not what I wanted to say. I believe we might be best served by hiring outside help. I can claim I’m searching for my lost, much-loved, simpleminded daughter. You, on the other hand, don’t have a good reason to search for my Yilanda. You can’t let anyone know of the loss of the Pearls of Orlov. You and Orlov,” — Albion smiled like a crocodile making Rastislav suppress a shudder — “would be ruined if word got out.”

Rastislav thought of Madame Orlov’s fury, the fury he would have to face for eternity if he didn’t retrieve the Pearls and father sons. The family would be equally furious, so much so that he would meet Madame Orlov sooner than his natural life expectancy would indicate.

“I assume I would be paying those bills as well?”

“I have no funds. But if you don’t need to find my daughter and the Pearls, well, I’ll manage. Somehow.”

The ham’s threat was clear. He could sell this lurid story to every newspaper and magazine in Barsoom. It would go out over skynet, ensuring the rest of Mars found out quickly. Orlov’s business deals would be destroyed. No one would marry in or out. The demesne would become a byword for foolishness, foolishness bearing the name of Rastislav.

“If I do this, Albion,” Rastislav said and then smiled his own crocodile smile. “I demand perfect behavior from you. No gambling. No affairs. No scandals while you are living under my roof. You are, after all, bereft over the loss of your much-loved, simpleminded daughter. If you gamble or cause me trouble, I will break you, finger by finger, then wrists and ankles, and then your limbs, one by one.”

Albion recoiled at Rastislav’s expression and this time, he didn’t have to fake his distress.

“I wouldn’t dream of causing any more scandal, Rastislav. After all, you will be my son-in-law, the father of my grandsons. I would never want harm to come to them.”

He grinned suddenly. “The weather will work to our favor. It’s been clouding up all day. Rain will make my little girl come running home to daddy and her future husband.”

“Yes, it will,” Rastislav said. And in the meantime, he had other pleasures waiting for him back at the Orlov townhouse.

* * *

Nelly contemplated her handiwork with pleasure. Everything was packed and ready for Miss Iolanthe’s wedding journey to DelFino. She glanced at the clock. Miss Iolanthe would send for her soon, despite what the sot had said. Miss Iolanthe had sworn she would not abandon her.

Nonetheless, there was no reason to wait. She knew where the cathedral was located. Miss Iolanthe was there with Charlton DelFino. The sot might return at any moment with his new bride. He would cause nothing but trouble for her. He was the one who had insisted that Miss Iolanthe travel to the cathedral without her, overriding Miss Iolanthe’s objections. That slutty adventuress, Mrs. Pondicherry, had put ideas into his head, no question. The sot’s valet had been crammed full of gaspingly lewd gossip about their affair on the train.

Nelly shuddered at what the sot would want from her and she wouldn’t be permitted to refuse because _she_ didn’t hold the power like Mrs. Pondicherry did.

It was definitely time to leave.

She slipped quietly through the hallways of the Orlov townhouse, looking for the butler. Matusda didn’t just run the household. He was the head of the servants and his word, after the daimyo’s, was law. He had to give his permission or she’d find herself being searched for within minutes of the discovery of her departure. She found him overseeing the preparation of the sot’s vast bedchamber, making it ready for his return with Yilanda DelFino.

She swallowed a grimace at the sight of a bed big enough for four, sound-deadening wine-red draperies, stain-resistant burgundy carpets, and gold-framed mirrors all around. She wouldn’t be in control. The sot would. She had been sure she could handle him when she first went into service at Orlov Castle. He had proved she couldn’t. She waited patiently to be recognized, then approached the wooden-faced butler respectfully when he nodded.

“Sir. Mr. Matusda,” Nelly said, her head downcast, her hands folded, and with the proper modest attitude. “May I have a moment of your time?”

“Yes, Nelly is it? What do you want?” the butler replied.

“I know the daimyo wants me to stay on, sir. But even so, I got to attend to my lady, Miss Iolanthe. She’s crippled and she needs me. I don’t mean to be rude or disrespectful, sir, truly I don’t, but she needs me more than the daimyo does.”

The butler watched her carefully. Despite what the servant’s gossip about Nelly implied, she did seem genuinely concerned about her mistress. Miss Iolanthe was a kind and considerate mistress and a pleasure to serve, unlike certain other members of Orlov whose death would guarantee a jubilee in the servant’s quarters he would lead himself. It was also certainly true that Nelly would be better off in DelFino and away from the sot. He glanced at the bed. Definitely better off, despite the reputation Nelly had earned among the servants.

“Is everything packed for Miss Iolanthe when she leaves us and travels to DelFino?”

“Yes, sir,” Nelly murmured. “Ready to be carried to wherever Miss Iolanthe wants. All done. No need to open any of her luggage. Thing is, sir, you know she don’t have a lady’s maid other than me. I don’t know that DelFino will understand what my lady needs like I do. I don’t want to see my lady suffer because some ignorant DelFino maid don’t know what to do about her lameness like I do.”

“That’s very commendable of you, Nelly,” Matusda said.

He thought hard, while Nelly waited patiently and without fidgeting, just as she ought. Should he let her go? The daimyo would be angry if his current favorite doxy was gone. But then, the daimyo was always angry over something. If the daimyo was angry enough, he might suffer a stroke and wouldn’t that be glad news for everyone in Orlov. The daimyo would also be distracted by the presence of his new bride, who would not be happy about the daimyo’s doxy. At least until the new bride realized she was better off with the sot making demands on some unlucky housemaid instead of her.

Moreover, Miss Iolanthe required a maid who understood her needs far more than the sot needed another doxy. Barsoom was full of willing whores and with careful hints, the sot might decide he didn’t care. Those girls were disposable. They weren’t Orlov, like Nelly was, from a longtime family of loyal, hardworking serfs. Nelly was being honest in her intentions, like a good maid should be. Her honesty meant all _he_ had to do was tell the sot the truth: Nelly had run away to serve Miss Iolanthe. They’d both be at DelFino and the sot would never have control over them again. Nelly’s loyalty to Miss Iolanthe was a good reason, one even the sot would have a hard time whining about, and one that would minimize his own troubles.

The butler smiled avuncularly. “You are a good girl, Nelly. You may attend to your mistress. When we receive word, I will have Miss Iolanthe’s luggage shipped to DelFino.

“Thank you, Mr. Matsuda. If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll bring along my own bag so’s I’ve got my salve and such for Miss Iolanthe. That way, she won’t have to wait if she needs anything.”

“Very thoughtful of you, Nelly. Go quickly. You know how to find the cathedral from here?”

“Yes, sir, I do. Thank you, sir,” Nelly said, curtseyed, and took her leave. She ran back up the stairs to Miss Iolanthe’s bedchamber and collected her own carefully packed bag. A few moments later, she was outside the Orlov townhouse and striding down the streets of Barsoom, thinking cheerfully about what would happen next.

Wouldn’t Miss Iolanthe be surprised.

* * *

“Charlton? How will we rescue Nelly? I can’t leave her with the sot,” Iolanthe said. “Can we take the trolley to the Orlov townhouse?”

The trolley swung around a corner, shoving her into his hard body. The trolley was proving noisy, crowded, and exhilaratingly fast in a way that the train never was. Trains were smooth, making their speed changes unnoticeable. The trolley made her feel every jolt and every jolting corner brought an entirely new set of street scenes. The other passengers, arriving and departing, all gave her a stare and then stopped paying attention. She and Charlton were the best-dressed people on the trolley, but she remained the only veiled woman. She’d have to do something about that, Iolanthe decided, although it would feel strange to not have the protection of a veil, even one as sheer as this one.

Charlton considered her question like Dimitri would; as though her request mattered to him.

“We’re on the wrong line. I’d rather get to the courthouse since we’re almost there. I’ll send a message to Grimaldi at DelFino’s townhouse. He’ll send a few footmen to Orlov’s backdoor with a message for your butler and the sot won’t ever know. They’ll escort Nelly and carry any luggage.”

“That should work. It’s far more discreet than pounding on the front door. Matsuda doesn’t have any love for the sot so he won’t prevent Nelly from leaving.”

“And your luggage? I can’t believe the sot is petty enough to keep your clothes.”

Iolanthe smiled. “I suspect Matusda will tell the sot that my luggage has already been moved up to the attics. The sot won’t check. Nelly should have everything packed and ready to go.”

“A good maid, then,” Charlton commented.

“So far, yes,” Iolanthe said with some relief. “As for the rest of my things, papa will ship them to me a little at a time to avoid notice. I only took what I needed most and my mama’s jewelry. I, uh, didn’t know what would happen at the cathedral.”

She paused, gazing at his face. “I expected you to refuse me as is your right, when I told you how the sot would abuse Lannie, she would refuse the marriage, and then he would not pay the agreed upon bride-price.”

He smiled at her, then traced a finger across her veiled cheek, making her shiver.

“I was always going to take you to DelFino. But I can see we really should have communicated better.”

“Yes, we should have.” He wouldn’t have refused her. Iolanthe wondered if she could live up to the perfect dream girl Charlton must have concocted from what Dimitri had said about her. Even if she couldn’t, she would be a good wife and partner. If she could run a castle, she could manage his rundown manor in his corner of DelFino back into stability. How oddly DelFino was organized. So different from Orlov, where the sot and his forefathers refused to cede day-to-day control of even a hand-sized piece of soil to a family member.

“We’ll visit the justice of the peace. Since I’m DelFino and you’re Orlov, we shouldn’t have to wait.” He brightened further. “By the time we get back to the townhouse, Ulla and Dimitri will be back with Lannie. Everyone in Barsoom must have seen her in that gown.”

“Yes, that gown,” Iolanthe mused. “So conspicuous.” She glanced down at her own dress; so fashionable in Orlov and so provincial and outré here in Barsoom based on what she had already observed on women out and about and in the department-store windows they passed. She needed Nelly and not just because of her leg. Despite being DelFino, Charlton was poor and she had no dowry other than her mother’s jewelry, valuable mainly because of its sentiment. Nelly had demonstrated on the train how skilled she was with a needle. She might be able to make-over Iolanthe’s garments into something more stylish.

Everything was turning out so differently from what she had prayed for, other than the sot not marrying. She would marry Charlton DelFino after all, escape Orlov, have a chance to show how valuable she could be. She realized again how little she knew about him. Dimitri, darn him, could have said more.

They sat quietly, side by side on the trolley, lost in their thoughts.

She had to learn more and now was the time to do it. The trolley jolted to another stop and as they pulled away, Iolanthe said, “what do you want from our marriage? For you, I mean. Not the partnership you need to run your estates.”

“I want sex.”

“Oh.” That was blunt. “Since I want children, I must agree.”

Gracious. Sex with Charlton DelFino. She hadn’t really thought that far, as though children would magically appear. He had yet to see her scarred left hand, concealed by her fine kid gloves. Or how her hip was misaligned and her left leg’s twist. What would he say when he saw her naked? He might be repelled and turn away from her in disgust. She wouldn’t be as flexible as a normal girl could be. He would turn to a parade of mistresses and doxies, shaming her in her own home. Oh dear.

Iolanthe gave herself a firm mental shake. She was letting her imagination run away with her again. He seemed willing to talk.

“Is there anything else?”

He looked uncomfortable, twisting in his seat, then settled himself as rigidly as any statue. “I don’t know what Dimitri told you.” He squeezed her hand, a gesture of reassurance.

“Very little, as it’s turning out,” she replied. “I shall have to speak with him about that.”

“Yeah. Anyways, I have trouble learning anything other than by doing it. I don’t learn from books very well. I want you to help me with paperwork and such. I don’t have a steward I can trust.”

His face was hard and uncaring but she caught the thread of constant petty humiliations in his voice. He didn’t measure up the way a DelFino should and they made sure to let him know. How well she knew how cruel people could be.

“Certainly.” Iolanthe stretched out her left hand for him to see her fine kidskin glove, embroidered lavishly with seed pearls in the Orlov sigil. She’d have to have Nelly remove them and resew them into DelFino’s sigil. She stretched out her fingers as much as she could, but she could never fan them like a normal person. Her left hand would not extend much past a claw.

“I don’t do much fine needlework like most ladies do. My hand won’t let me.” She gazed back into his dark, dark eyes. “Instead, I read aloud in the evenings to everyone else. I’m accounted quite good. I usually read novels, so you may have to explain to me what I’m reading if you wish something more practical like crop rotation procedures.”

“I can do that.” He relaxed subtly against her. Already, she was beginning to read him. All that practice interpreting the sot’s mood swings was turning out to be useful.

The trolley jolted around another corner, and came to a stop, clanging its bells.

“Is this our stop?” Iolanthe asked. If it was, she’d be married soon, even if it wasn’t legal and they’d have to do it over again in DelFino.

“We get off at the next exit,” he answered.

“Well, then. Is there anything else?”

He turned again and brought his mouth close to hers.

“I want a partner. I want sex. With you, my wife.”

Heat coursed down across her body. She had never had a man be so blunt. She had never expected a man to want her at all. But it seemed Charlton did, or else he was a damn good liar.

“I have never, uh, been intimate,” she breathed, eyes wide. Not even the touch of a hand and certainly never a kiss. “But you can’t expect me to believe that you are, um, how to put this delicately,”

“A virgin?” He grinned suddenly and she saw a flash of his father’s much vaunted charm, but honest and open in a way that Albion DelFino could never be. “I’m not. I may be the black sheep of DelFino, but I’m still DelFino. That opens doors. Even so, I’m not my father. I’m not going to stray but I have appetites. I expect to share them with you.”

She flushed, hearing blood pound in her ears. “I, I, will do my best,” she managed at last. “I may not be um, agile because of my hip and leg.”

“No worries,” he replied. “I’m very agile.” He winked at her. “Flexible too.”

Iolanthe dissolved into giggles. “I’ve never had a conversation like this one before. So improper.”

“See? First the trolley and the streets of Barsoom and then racy conversation. I may be poor, but I can give you things no one else can,” Charlton said.

Then he leaned closer and lifted her veil.

She couldn’t breathe. He was going to kiss her. She had never had a man kiss her, even hint that he wanted to do so. She had always been ignored. Her first kiss, on the trolley in a Barsoom street in front of a horde of strangers. And she would let him. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to kiss him back. He was so close. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, see the heat in his eyes. She could feel her own body’s response, a trembling liquid heat radiating up from her center. Her body knew the truth. He wanted her.

The bells clanged their warning as the trolley jolted to a halt.

“Our stop,” Charlton said as he pulled back, a flash of disappointment in his dark, hot eyes.

She was disappointed too, blinking and trying to focus on what was around her, past Charlton sitting close enough to touch all over, run her hands across his chest and feel more of the muscle she had leaned on during the long walk from the cathedral, the hard body she sat next to on the trolley.

The trolley had arrived at the courthouse and she had to pay attention to something other than Charlton DelFino’s mouth, so close to hers.

“Yes,” Iolanthe gasped. “Our stop.” She could hardly hear because of her heart’s drumbeat. She couldn’t think anymore and it took until they descended from the trolley for what she was facing to sink in.

The trolley stop was located in front of an imposing, multi-storied red sandstone building, lavishly decorated with freestanding ornate statues and even more bas-relief statuary filling the many friezes wrapped around each floor of the building. A fountain splashed in the wide plaza and just beyond the fountain the stairs — many, many deep steps — led to the front doors of the courthouse.

They were an immense set of stairs and there was no way around them. Charlton DelFino would find out exactly how useless and crippled she was. She had recovered some from her tiredness, but these steps would be challenge. Climbing back down them would be even harder.

* * *

Ulla ran back to the cathedral, taking a short cut that she hoped would work. Barsoom was arranged like a grid. That meant alleys weren’t usually blind: they connected streets no matter how dark and fetid they were and a bend didn’t mean a dead end. Dimitri easily kept pace and for a wonder, didn’t question her judgement.

The alley performed as expected. She darted around the bend and saw the street beyond, the street that ran behind the cathedral. The spires rose above the wall, the gate closed just as she had left it.

The alley was as noisome as a Barsoom alley usually was; it smelled like a badly kept stable and had unpleasant shiny damp spots that didn’t bear close inspection.

A glint caught her eye and she skidded to a halt, forcing Dimitri to stop short or he would have run into her.

“What?” he asked. “We’re almost at the cathedral!”

“I think that’s a button,” Ulla said.

“So?”

It took every ounce of self-control Ulla had not to screech at Dimitri for being a moron. She was wrong about him and Charlton not being able to organize a four wagon parade: she gave them too much credit. Three wagons or even just two was their limit.

“It’s a shiny yellow button, it’s clean, and it hasn’t been here long. Nice buttons cost money so someone would have picked it up.”

Dimitri closed his mouth. His expression indicated he had decided he was about to say something idiotic and thought better of it. She gave him a moment to rework his thoughts and was rewarded.

“A button from Lannie’s ballgown?”

“I think so.” Ulla bent over and carefully picked the button up, trying not to touch any part of the disgustingly dirty cobbles it rested on. The button secured, she turned around slowly to see if there were any other clues. There weren’t so she darted to the mouth of the alley to the brighter light. She held the button up so he could see it better.

“Does it look correct?” she asked.

Dimitri frowned. “I only saw that gown for a minute. I’m not sure if it had buttons.”

Ulla wanted to groan. “It had to have a closure of some sort and buttons are the usual choice. I wish your sister was here. _She_ would know.” The phrase ‘unobservant moron’, although unspoken, echoed in the alley.

“I wish Iolanthe was here too,” Dimitri said. Then she’d have to cope with you instead of me, he thought. Bet you wouldn’t be as rude to her.

“Anyway, Lannie must have come this way, just as I thought. Maybe there’ll be some more buttons or scraps on the path back to the chapel window.”

There were. Now that she was looking closely, Ulla found two more buttons in the gravel path and a scrap of shiny yellow fabric snagged on the brickwork edging one of the cutting gardens. Inside the chapel, a button had rolled under the bench, wedged up against the wall where it couldn’t be seen.

That left the closet.

Ulla opened the closet and stared at the lavishly embroidered and flamboyantly colored vestments. They were as conspicuous as the shiny yellow ballgown and would have excited even more comment if Lannie had been spotted wearing one.

“She could not have worn one of those vestments,” Dimitri commented. “She’d drown in all that cloth and she wouldn’t have been able to squeeze out the window.”

“You’re right. There wasn’t any sign of anyone else waiting outside the window. Too bad that gravel didn’t hold footprints, just where Lannie scuffed it up when she climbed down.”

“You sound like a detective,” Dimitri said.

“I’m trying to think like one. I wonder,” Ulla said thoughtfully. “There’s empty hooks in the back of the closet. Almost as though the closet was used to store other clothing.”

Dimitri grinned suddenly. “Like a set of work clothes for some cathedral employee. A coverall most likely. That’s what most low-caste workers in Barsoom wear.”

“Yeah,” Ulla said. “The shoes though. Lannie didn’t run on that gravel path and then down that alley barefoot. She probably wore some fancy sandal with the gown but those shoes aren’t made for serious walking. There must have been a pair of boots to go with the coverall. We need to go back to that livery stable. It and the trolley stop are close to the far end of the alley where I found the first button. That has to be where Lannie went.”

She stopped.

“Wait a minute. Why would you have been at that particular livery stable? I would think Orlov has its own carriages, like DelFino does. And which livery stable was the one you and Charlton and Walter fought at?”

“That stable,” Dimitri said brightly. “Charlton told me they have a contract for when DelFino needs an extra carriage or two. That’s the stable where Walter tried to rape the owner’s daughter, got caught, and we stopped that stablehand from pounding Walter into paste.”

Ulla stared at him for a long, long painful period of time, like a scientist studying a rabbit that deserved an excruciatingly extensive vivisection.

“That stable. Did you or Walter or Charlton tell the livery stable owner who you were?”

“Well, of course,” Dimitri replied, insulted. “We’re Four Hundred. He needed to remember his place. Charlton got Walter to swear on his name not to harm them.”

“Good for Charlton,” Ulla said. “And since we told that livery stable owner we were also DelFino and Orlov, we made sure he would never tell _us_ anything.”

“I don’t follow you.”

Ulla sat down tiredly on the bench under the window in the chapel and put her head in her hands.

“Think, Dimitri. I know you can, at least a little.”

He rolled his eyes ostentatiously.

“Not helpful, Ulla.”

“You are so right.” Reenergized by irritation, she smiled tightly at him. “Let me spell it out. You and Charlton dove in, without asking questions, because Walter is DelFino, correct?”

“Yes.”

“We protect our own. Loyalty to our own clan is one of the highest virtues. Correct?”

“Well, sure.”

“Do you suppose that a livery stable owner would rat out one of his employees to anyone from DelFino or Orlov? Especially if that employee had just rescued his daughter from DelFino and he could play dumb and insist he didn’t see or hear anything?”

Dimitri leaned back against the chapel wall.

“Damnation.”

“Exactly. That man won’t tell us anything. Maybe someone else. But not us. Not Orlov and never DelFino, not after what Walter did to his daughter.”

Ulla stood back up, climbed on the bench and peered out the window at the sky.

“It’s really overcast. I hope it doesn’t rain. Wherever Lannie is, she’ll get soaked. Assuming she lives through the night.”

She climbed back down and stood in the center of the room, lost in anguish, her arms wrapped around herself. Guilt poured over her like heavy rain; guilt because she hadn’t paid enough attention to her own penpals’ information about the daimyo of Orlov, guilt because she’d listened to what the daimyo of DelFino wanted instead of what Lannie did, guilt because she hadn’t believed what had been right in front of her in Lannie’s crumbling ruin of a house. “Oh, Lannie,” she whispered. “I wasn’t in time. I wasn’t fast enough. I should have told everyone my suspicions about Albion and you wouldn’t be lost.” Tears slid out of her tightly shut eyes.

Dimitri walked over and put his arms around her. To his amazement, she didn’t shake him off in irritation.

“I’m sorry, Ulla. We’ll find her.”

“That’s okay.” She sighed and blinked back tears. “I should have asked you before we went into the stable yard. I should have taken my time and thought for five minutes instead of racing off halfcocked. It’s done now.”

She sighed again, suddenly aware of her body’s demands as she slumped against Dimitri. She was tired, she was thirsty, she was hungry, and her feet hurt. What must Lannie be feeling, wherever she was? She had to find Lannie, but this time, she had to do better. She was failing in her duty to her cousin.

“Dimitri, we need to think first and plan our next move.”

“Agreed. I spotted a café over by that livery stable so we can eat and talk.”

“Perfect,” Ulla said. “This time, we’ll plan what we say before we ask questions. Get your hands off me so we can get moving.”

Dimitri did, grateful again he wasn’t the unlucky slobbo who would marry Ulla DelFino.


	21. Legality is a matter of mindset

Iolanthe walked determinedly to the base of the stairs. The trolley ride had let her rest enough for that. The stairs, however, loomed in front of her like a mountain. How much had Dimitri told Charlton?

“I’ll have to go slowly,” she said, staring upwards, upwards, upwards. At least the stairs were wide and shallow, enough so she had plenty of space on each tread to keep her balance. Damn those courthouse builders. The railings were way off to either side as though no one who needed a railing for support would ever visit the courthouse of Barsoom.

“It will be easier for me if we walk over to the far side, where the railing is.”

Charlton thought about her request for a moment, then grinned.

“No. We’re Four Hundred. We take our half out of the middle.”

“Um, I have to.” She smiled placatingly at Charlton. Damn Dimitri. All that folderol about taking care of her and her brother had neglected telling Charlton how critical it was for her to have assistance with stairs.

“No, you don’t. Hold onto your cane.”

Then, to Iolanthe’s astonishment, Charlton easily scooped her up, her body pressed up against his in the most shockingly intimate manner and on a public street, too. It felt very different from when Dimitri carried her, or when a pair of footmen lifted her up between them, perched on their linked hands.

“Can you carry me all the way to the top?” she squeaked, thinking madly ‘please don’t drop me, please don’t drop me, please don’t drop me.’

“Sure.”

He went slowly, step by step, giving Iolanthe plenty of time to study her surroundings in an effort to distract herself from feeling his muscular body so close to hers, close enough to feel him breathe. Her own heart pounded. Everyone around them stared, making her feel even more conspicuous than she did because of her veil or her cane. Charlton was strong as an ox, stronger than Dimitri, even though he wasn’t as tall. He wasn’t even breathing hard and she’d be able to tell, as close as she was, cuddled up against his broad chest.

A contemptuous security guard was waiting for them at the broad plaza leading to the main courthouse doors, arms crossed across his chest.

Charlton let Iolanthe down gently, and she found herself clinging to him for a moment as she found her feet.

“You know we got a ramp and a freight elevator at the back of the building,” the security guard said scornfully. He added his most patronizing smile to amplify the sting in his voice.

“You know you could have put up a damn sign saying so, since you’re too damn lazy to walk down the stairs and be helpful,” Charlton snarled. “Then everyone would know they had to walk around your entire damn building to find your ramp. And add a trolley stop there too, while you’re at it.”

“Well, if you taxpayers want signs and special trolley stops, you got to pay for them,” the guard shot back, nettled at this blatant challenge to his authority.

“How lucky I am that I’m not a taxpayer having to pay for shoddy service like yours. Where’s the justice of the peace?” Charlton demanded.

“Then who are _you_ if you don’t pay taxes to keep this fine government office running, including the justice of the peace?” The guard’s eyes were aglow with the sheer joy of reminding an uppity citizen of his lowly status in the courthouse hierarchy. A little more lip like this and he’d be fully justified in what he did next to enforce the peace.

“I’m Charlton Ranaglia DelFino.”

There was a long pause.

Iolanthe watched Charlton smile pleasantly and stand his ground until the security guard dropped his eyes, denied the pleasure of lording it over some unfortunate, powerless citizen.

“Terrific. This way, please. Sir,” the guard said resentfully. Another damn risto, probably here to persuade that dumb bint what he was proposing was legal. Let the justice of the peace deal with him and break the bad news to her. He wasn’t going to waste his time on some weirdly dressed cripple.

For her part, Iolanthe was undecided if she wanted to be embarrassed by Charlton behaving like every single other man in the Four Hundred, be irritated by the pettiness of the security guard who had watched them climb the stairs and waited smilingly until they arrived at the top to say something helpful, or be annoyed at how Barsoom taxpayers refused to pay for signs and more convenient trolley stops. She decided on the signs because signs benefited everybody, she had no control over the guard’s attitude, and gentlemen of the Four Hundred were a law unto themselves and didn’t plan on changing. So, for that matter, were ladies of the Four Hundred. What would the guard say if he knew she was part of that august, untouchable aristocracy? He wouldn’t ignore her as dirt beneath his feet, like he was doing now.

“Not yet,” Charlton said. “You have couriers available for messages?”

“Yes, sir, we do.”

“Get me one right now.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard replied, even more resentful at being asked to perform one of his duties by someone he could not refuse. He stomped off and while he was summoning one of the courthouse’s uniformed couriers, Charlton carefully printed a brief message on a notepad pulled from a pocket. He had come prepared.

One of the bystanders had been watching the byplay with interest. The sharply dressed man ran up as the guard left. As soon as Charlton stopped writing, he said, “Greetings, my lord DelFino. I’m Thiago Gunderson with the Barsoom Bugle. You and this charming young lady getting married then?” Thiago pulled out a notepad of his own and a sharp pencil.

“We sure are,” Charlton said. He beamed at Iolanthe, making her smile back at him.

The reporter glanced at Iolanthe, lingering over her veil and pausing longer at her cane.

“Miss, you know this isn’t legal, right? Not for the Four Hundred at any rate no matter what this gentleman may have told you.”

“Yes, I do and thank you for your concern. I’m Iolanthe Deengar Orlov, also of the Four Hundred.”

“Oh.” The reporter stopped and studied her pearl-strewn veil, embellished gloved hands, and lavishly be-pearled garments more closely, blinking in amazement as he did so. “Oh! The Pearls of Orlov.”

“You’ve heard of us,” Iolanthe said warmly. “How nice. What you see me wearing are not the Pearls. They are astonishing in their size and beauty and far more glamorous than the seed pearls we use to adorn our garments.”

Thiago Gunderson thought of the very expensive earrings he had bought his wife for a tenth anniversary gift; each a cluster of three seed pearls shipped across the solar system from Olde Earthe, six in all, and here this risto’s garments were lavishly trimmed with them. There must have been dozens and dozens sewn onto her gloves alone.

“Right. So you two are getting married. You can tell me all about it while I show you the way to the justice of the peace. The office is close by on the main floor.”

“You going to publish this in the society pages?” Charlton asked.

Iolanthe glanced over at him. Charlton looked pleased, but why?

“You bet I will,” Thiago replied.

“Good. Lead the way. Wait. My courier.”

The uniformed courier trotted up, a lithe and long-legged teenager wearing the livery of the court.

“Message, sir? I’ll need name and location.”

“Grimaldi, the butler of DelFino’s townhouse.”

Charlton passed over the message and a coin (this particular denomination showed proud Ares spearing a cringing representation of Olde Earthe), the courier bolted down the stairs to the courthouse bicycle rack, and then he, Iolanthe, and the Barsoom Bugle reporter entered the building.

* * *

The justice of the peace, an older, matronly woman dressed in the official deep maroon robes of the Barsoom courts, looked dubious.

“You understand this isn’t legal, young man, Miss Orlov. As members of the Four Hundred, neither of you are citizens and our laws and procedures don’t apply to you.”

“Yes, I understand. This is to let my family and hers know I mean business and to give my wife, Iolanthe, at least some legal standing. We’ll marry officially when we return to my estates in DelFino. I swear it on my name, Charlton Ranaglia DelFino.”

“I see. Are you two going to get the tats to commemorate the occasion like normal citizens?” The justice of the peace smirked. “The tattoo parlor is next door.”

“Next to your unmarked ramp and freight elevator and that non-existent trolley stop?” Charlton asked. “No. We’re not low-caste day-labor.”

Iolanthe discreetly pushed her cane down onto his instep. “Free-city citizens, dear heart, and as valuable to the Martian republic as your peasants are to you. Thank you for offering, your honor, but no, we’ll pass on the tattoos. What are those anyway?”

“I’ll be happy to explain and show you mine,” Thiago said. “After the ceremony.”

“How kind of you,” Iolanthe said.

* * *

Charlton got Iolanthe settled into the café’s seat, outdoors but under a large umbrella to protect them from the lowering skies. Thiago Gunderson took another seat, eager to learn more.

Iolanthe took a moment to enjoy her surroundings as the conversation flowed around her. Even more, she enjoyed the sensation of knowing Charlton wasn’t ashamed of being seen in public with her. He even took a moment to kiss her again, lightly across her cheek after she had thrown back her veil to sip her tea. It was the third time he had kissed her, counting their first deep kiss after the justice of the peace married them. He sat down next to her, his hand clasping her crippled left hand on the table for all to see.

He wasn’t ashamed of her. He had kissed her openly, a kiss that made her warm again, almost as warm as his first deep heady kiss at the courthouse in front of the justice of the peace. That kiss had been her first kiss ever, warming her to her toes and making liquid heat bloom in her groin.

She startled and dragged her attention back to the café. The reporter was asking her a question.

“Is there anything else you would like to know about family line tattoos, my lady?” Thiago asked.

“Yes, thank you. Is this done elsewhere than Barsoom? Orlov’s closest free-city is Nourz.”

“Yes, my lady. It’s very common, from Easternmost to Westernmost, Northernmost to Southernmost. I believe only the Four Hundred and demesne residents don’t use them.”

“Huh,” Charlton said. “Everyone at the gym has them and I never twigged. How soon will this story make the society pages?”

Thiago smiled cheerfully. “As soon as I report in, I’ll write the story for the next edition. You’re really fine with letting everyone on Mars know your father tried to poison your mother?”

Charlton leaned forward. His face could have been carved from stone, other than his stubble growing in and making him look more like an unshaven thug than ever. “Yes. I am. I don’t want anyone, either in the Four Hundred or outside it, giving my father sanctuary because he doesn’t deserve it. I want my sister found. I want everyone to know that Iolanthe and I are married and she is part of DelFino with all the rights and privileges thereof.”

“Charlton is correct,” Iolanthe added. He wasn’t ashamed of her. “Albion DelFino is a liar and will try to fool people. He’ll lie about being banned from DelFino. He’ll attempt to escape his creditors. We don’t want him to find Lannie first.”

She pressed her right hand to her face, openly fearful. “I don’t want to think of how he might hurt her. Or how Rastislav, daimyo of Orlov, might harm her. We want Lannie home safe.”

Neither of them, by unspoken accord, brought up the Pearls of Orlov, vanished along with Lannie.

“Well, then,” Thiago said, his eyes sparkling. “I hate to eat and run but I’ve got a deadline to meet. Thanks again for talking to me and don’t forget to read the _Barsoom Bugle_. We always get the scoop.”

“No worries,” Charlton said.

He and Iolanthe watched the reporter dash off into the street traffic under the increasingly gloomy sky. The sun was near to setting, twilight was coming on rapidly because of the heavy cloud cover, and soon it would be night.

“I don’t want it to rain until after we find Lannie,” Iolanthe said softly. “I can’t bear to think of her alone and terrified and shivering under some hedge in the rain all night long.”

“You’re letting your imagination run away with you,” Charlton said fondly. “We’ll go back to the townhouse, Lannie will be waiting there with Ulla and Dimitri, and Nelly will be there too. Dimitri will take the Pearls straight back to Orlov on the next train and no one will ever know what a purblind fool the sot was.”

She smiled mistily at Charlton. “Yes, you’re right of course. Not that the sot will be grateful.”

“Not him.”

* * *

The café was located near where Dimitri thought it would be and they were seated at a quiet, inside booth with a good view of the street. Ulla inhaled her soup and demolished her sandwich, concentrating on fulfilling her body’s demands. Fortunately, Dimitri was equally busy wolfing down an entire roast chicken and didn’t want to talk. It gave her time to think, something she hadn’t been doing enough lately.

She had to think of a graceful way to approach the livery stable owner as well as the other shopkeepers along the street. Too much time had passed for the trolley staff; she spotted it going by as they walked to the café and a new conductor and driver were present. Shift change put an entirely new set of people working the street and none of them would have seen Lannie. She’d check the shopkeepers and clerks, but time had passed and a young woman wearing some sort of coverall blended into anonymity.

That left the livery stable owner as the best choice until she could get to the trolley headquarters and find the supervisor for this route. He most likely lived over his stables, as most small business owners did. But no matter how she apologized, would he talk to them?

She might have to beg Charlton to speak with the man. He was Walter’s cousin, he had insisted Walter swear no harm would come to the livery stable, and he, Ulla grimaced at the remains of her sandwich, was a lord of the Four Hundred instead of a lady. The livery stable owner would be polite to _her_. He wouldn’t dare not be. But she wasn’t directly involved and ladies could be gracefully and politely ignored since the livery stable owner would want to avoid offending her delicate sensibilities. Dimitri had been involved, but Lannie wasn’t his sister.

She stared out the window at the increasingly dark and cloudy sky and thought of Lannie, lost and frightened and wet, if the rain came on as it had been threatening. She was increasingly afraid they’d find Lannie in the morgue, after some unlucky citizen tripped over Lannie’s body and reported the gruesome discovery.

Damnation. Why hadn’t she said anything to Charlton about her suspicions? To Zachery? To Lannie herself, for goodness sakes. Even to Walter or to the servants or the peasants in Charlton’s village? She had tried to do her duty by everyone involved, not making wild accusations, and as a result, she had failed Lannie in the worst way possible.

“Ulla?”

“Yes, Dimitri?”

He sighed gustily. “I don’t think that livery stable owner will talk to me or you. He’s going to want to watch Walter grovel.”

Ulla looked down at her hands, splayed on the table. She had destroyed the polish on each nail, even her thumbs. Her cuticles were raw and she had chewed more than half her nails to the quick.

“Walter won’t grovel for anyone. Ever. But Charlton might, if it means getting Lannie back. It’s getting late. We need to get back to the townhouse and tell Charlton we failed.”

“Yeah. We also need to figure out what I’m going to do. I can keep an eye on Rastislav. None of you can. Albion might be sticking to the sot because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go, now that Zachery’s banned him from DelFino.”

Gleesh, Ulla thought. So you can think, at least some of the time.

“Very true. We’ll talk about it on the trip back to DelFino’s townhouse. After you tell me everything about how you and Charlton know each other,” Ulla said firmly.

“Sound’s good.” Dimitri paused and eyed Ulla critically. She was a smart, practical woman, a lady of the Four Hundred with all that entailed, and she might have already grasped his predicament. “Whatever else happens, I want the Pearls back for Orlov. I will be completely honest. Lannie matters but not as much as the Pearls do. They’re the surety behind every debt Orlov holds. My family and my serfs demand no less from me.”

Ulla eyed him back. “I already told you at the cathedral. If Lannie is dead, the Pearls are gone for good and if Lannie is alive, DelFino is plenty rich and doesn’t need the Pearls. Neither do I.

“I think you might mean that,” Dimitri mused.

“I don’t lie and I do my duty, always, no matter what it costs me,” Ulla replied. She looked away across the quiet café. They were being ignored by the other patrons, allowing for much needed privacy. “I have to say that Orlov would be better off if you sold the Pearls very quietly and paid off debt, while putting the demesne on a sounder business footing.”

Dimitri sat back. “How could you know that?”

She smiled coolly. “I could say a lucky guess but that’s not true. I have a penpal at Choudhury. Elise told me.”

Dimitri took a long, long swallow of his beer to cover his increasing shock. Choudhury was part of Orlov’s ninesquare, but the two demesnes didn’t have much to do with each other and hadn’t for decades. The sot and the sot’s father and grandfather had seen to the destruction of formerly strong business and marriage ties. If Elise Choudhury, whoever she was, knew about the unstable foundation Orlov rested on, then the knowledge was more widespread than papa or Uncle Ljubo knew. He had to tell them at once.

“I don’t lie, Dimitri. If I know these rumors then so do other people. I can help you if you don’t lie to me. I can’t work without facts.”

Damnation and all his ancestors, Dimitri thought. His snack roiled within him. Then something else struck him, almost as horrifying. Could the harpy be angling for him as a husband? His nausea increased. Ulla was certainly eligible but it was equally certain that every man she was introduced to quickly found reasons to say no, despite her obvious intellect and drive. He stopped himself. He was not the unlucky slobbo who would marry Ulla DelFino and he was letting his imagination run away with him just like Iolanthe did all the time.

Ulla picked up a table knife and began idly spinning it between her fingers. The metal glinted in the soft candlelight, casting reflections onto her blonde hair, still snarled but now tied back into a careless ponytail.

She was pretty. She was supremely well-connected. She had some kind of a dowry, above and beyond being DelFino. She would drive him insane within short order. But she was smart and ruthlessly practical; as smart as Iolanthe and she wasn’t emotionally involved with Orlov. She’d be able to see options that he and the rest of the family could not.

He could use her.

“Later, Ulla. I have to get my thoughts in order before we talk about _them_ and what they’ve done to us. But yes, you’re right. We would have been better off without” — he looked around the café and lowered his voice — “the Pearls of Orlov. As for me and Charlton? We both like to box and we met at a gym a few years back.”

* * *

The DelFino carriage was a welcome sight. Her driver, Lesten, had waited patiently for her, and, Ulla was happy to discover, had asked discreet questions of the cathedral staff about Lannie, Albion, and the sot when not attending to his tired horses. She would have to commend him to the daimyo. The coachman confirmed that Albion left with the sot. He also said no one had seen Lannie disappear. Every member of the cathedral staff from high to low had been avidly watching the dramatic performances of the DelFino and the Orlov families squabbling at the altar. Even the gardeners, who should have been working in the cathedral grounds, had shirked their duties in favor of a free show.

“They’ll be talking about it for years, Miss Ulla,” Lesten said as he drove the carriage through the crowded evening traffic. “Be surprised if DelFino and Orlov don’t make all the gossip columns in tomorrow’s papers.”

“Lovely,” Ulla said.

“Orlov’s reputation has been declining for years, thanks to the sot,” Dimitri said. “This won’t help.”

“At least everyone in the city will know not to help either of them,” Ulla said. “That’s something. I wish I had something better to tell Charlton.”

“Think of something fast,” Dimitri said. “That’s Charlton on your front steps with my sister.”

She peered down the rapidly darkening street. The widely scattered streetlights were inadequate and the glass panels protecting the flames needed to be scrubbed. Electricity would be so much nicer but Barsoom’s taxpayers wouldn’t pay for proper lighting in the Four Hundred’s district and the Four Hundred refused to pony up the coin, insisting lighting was the responsibility of the fulltime residents and not visitors like themselves.

“Is he actually carrying Iolanthe up the steps? Gleesh. We’ll have to install a ramp,” Ulla said. “She’s not that crippled and he won’t be able to show off his muscles like some labor caste forever.”

More to think about when her head was already full of how Charlton and Dimitri had managed, somehow, to keep their own friendship hidden enough to maneuver Albion into offering Lannie to the sot in marriage in exchange for a bride price and think it was his own idea. The two of them had proved clever, but not clever enough to foresee all the problems their solution would generate. She hadn’t been joking when she said she could make Charlton into daimyo material. He might even be able to make it on his own, now that she knew him better. Dimitri might, _might_ possibly be capable.

Dimitri sighed ostentatiously. “They’re newlyweds and he’s carrying his bride over the threshold, Ulla. They went to the courthouse, remember?”

“This is true.” She glanced over at Dimitri, sitting next to her in the carriage. He was a handsome gentleman of the Four Hundred and if it weren’t for his barking mad family, quite eligible. Other than the fact he didn’t like her and found her bossy, overbearing, overpowering, and a screeching harpy he was willing to use for his own purposes. He actually believed, the dumb slobbo, that she wasn’t aware of how he felt. She pushed her hands into her sides to give her fingernails a few minutes of peace. Tomorrow, along with everything else, she was supposed to meet the current crop of third-stringer marriage candidates the DelFino matchmaker had dredged up. None of those chinless wonders would be adequate and all of them would be intimidated by her brain and drive, just like all the previous candidates had been.

If she’d been born male, she’d already be on the fast-track for daimyo of DelFino. Too bad women were never elected daimyos. They could and did perform every other job needed to run a demesne but they never won the top position.

She had a sudden flash of meeting Yair Buruk in the stairwell at the Great Hospital. Had that only been a few hours ago? _He_ hadn’t been intimidated in the least. Except he was some low-caste social climber. She still hadn’t decided if she would show up at their appointed meeting at Burroughs park the day after tomorrow. Except she had promised and Ulla DelFino didn’t go back on her word, ever. She thought of the third-raters she was supposed to meet and thought about cancelling. For that, thankfully, she had a very good excuse. Lannie came first.

The coachman slowed the horses. Dimitri started to vault out of the carriage and she yanked him back.

“They’re newlyweds, remember? Give them at least a minute to get inside before we dump our failure on them,” Ulla snapped. Dimitri, the coachman, and the horses could clearly hear the added unspoken words ‘inconsiderate moron’.

“Right,” he replied sullenly and sank back into the upholstery.

* * *

Charlton easily carried Iolanthe up the few steps to the DelFino townhouse. It was thrilling and this time, she didn’t waste energy fretting he would drop her. If he hadn’t dropped her on the much larger flight of stairs leading to the courthouse, these few steps were no challenge. Instead, she could cuddle up next to him and enjoy the ride. He was carrying her over the threshold just like a real bride. Even better, Lannie would be waiting for them along with Dimitri and Ulla, and her maid Nelly would be there too, rescued from the sot.

Grimaldi was waiting and had the door open but he did not look pleased.

Charlton gently set Iolanthe on her feet.

“Do you have a problem, Grimaldi, with me carrying my bride over the threshold? I know damn well a courthouse marriage like the plebs do isn’t correct for the Four Hundred.”

The butler bowed. “No sir. I’m sure you have your reasons.” He took a deep breath. “I have unfortunate news.”

“Lannie,” Charlton and Iolanthe said together.

“No sir, ma’am. This is about my lady Iolanthe’s maid, Nelly. She was not waiting at the Orlov townhouse for an escort here to DelFino. She told Matusda she would meet my lady Iolanthe at the cathedral.”

“Oh no,” Iolanthe said. “The sot must have found her.”

“I don’t believe so, ma’am. As soon as word came back to me, I sent a runner to the cathedral. Nelly never arrived.” Grimaldi paused. “I don’t believe she ever planned to meet you.”

“How can you say such a thing?” Iolanthe demanded. At the same time, she could feel a twinge of fear coiling through her stomach, replacing the warm giddiness Charlton had given her.

“The footmen brought back your luggage as requested. Nelly had it packed and ready, as she told Matusda. I took the liberty of having the maids unpack so your things would be available upon your return.” Grimaldi turned and snapped his fingers at a nervously waiting housemaid. The girl’s jaw was trembling and her arms were heaped with pink silk.

“Show my lady Iolanthe, Susan,” Grimaldi said.

“Yes, sir,” the girl whispered. She shook out Iolanthe’s dress, the one she had worn on the train the day she and Dimitri met Mrs. Pondicherry. The Orlov sigil, sewn in seed pearls, had been razored off, leaving loose threads hanging and slashes and holes in the fine silk.

“All your clothes are like this, my lady,” the girl said. “All damaged, some ruined beyond repair. There are a few pearls left, here and there. Where she missed them. Lace is gone too.”

Iolanthe would have fallen, except Charlton caught her and she leaned against him, grateful for his support.

“Oh no. She stole those pearls,” Iolanthe said and stopped. She gasped. “I had a small case of jewelry, my mama’s jewelry and all I have left of her. Is my mama’s jewelry?” She felt her voice trail away at Grimaldi’s expression.

“There was no jewelry of any kind, my lady, nor a jewelry case.”

“That bitch,” Charlton swore. “We’ll need a description of Nelly so we can find her.”

“Mama’s jewelry,” Iolanthe murmured as she felt tears sting her eyes. Mama’s jewelry was her dowry, all she had left of what mama had brought from her own family of Deengar when she married into Orlov.

She should have known. Nelly was smart, Nelly was a risk-taker, Nelly was desperate to escape Orlov. Olga, her maid back at Orlov Castle had warned her as had many other servants. Nelly was an untrustworthy sly-boots and she was willing to do just about anything to get what she wanted. Nelly was now free of Orlov and she had jewelry to sell. At least those pearls sliced off her clothes weren’t real, unlike mama’s jewelry. But they were the best fake pearls on Mars and so still worth good coin.

How could she have believed that Nelly would be loyal to her, when Nelly’s own actions, reexamined carefully, showed her loyalty was only to herself? She had wanted to believe and so she had. She could feel Charlton’s arms around her, speaking quietly to Grimaldi, as he supported her so she did not fall to the floor. She wanted to believe Charlton when he said they would marry on DelFino, in front of the DelFino family, where it would be legal and she would then have the legal standing granted by a true marriage. She had no other place to go and now because of faithless Nelly, she really was penniless, with nothing sellable to buy a train ticket to Nourz and then locate Cressida Khan and beg for sanctuary.

But would he? Or was she letting her fears eat at her. He had sworn he would, on his name, and in front of witnesses. Gentlemen of the Four Hundred, the sot not included, took their vows very seriously.

“Iolanthe,” Charlton said, breathing into her ear. “Grimaldi’s brought you a chair.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, fighting back tears. Mama’s jewelry gone, except for the fine gold chain she never took off, the one that mama had worn on her own wedding day to papa. At least she still had that to help remember mama, gone so many years that she had become a sweet-voiced blur.

Sitting down in the entry way was a relief, Charlton’s hands warm on her shoulder as he conferred rapidly with Grimaldi and a stony-faced footman over what to do next.

The front doors opened again, startling everyone in the entry hall. Ulla and Dimitri strode in along with a chilly evening breeze, looking tired and defeated.

They were alone.

Iolanthe understood instantly, as did Charlton when his hands tightened on her shoulders.

They had not found Lannie.

* * *

Nelly thanked the back-street jeweler, eyes modestly downcast as a good maid discreetly selling her mistress’s jewelry should behave. So, as she suspected, all those pearls sewn all over the Orlov family’s garments were fake. It figured. How much of the famous Pearls of Orlov were fake? She had only seen them from a distance, peeking around corners to watch the previous daimyah wearing them at fancy dinners in Orlov Castle. They were awfully big to be real. Some of those pearls looked to be as big as her thumbnail. Painted glass most likely and everyone pretended they were real, transported all the way from Olde Earthe’s oceans generations ago when the Orlov family bought the demesne and set themselves up like they were better than everyone else. Madame Orlov’s portrait, which she had so often dusted, lied. They all lied and she was well shook of them.

The back-street jeweler clearly thought she had stolen the dozen pearls she had given him and she was equally sure he had underpaid her. But he paid, giving her enough coin to buy some anonymous clothes, like the coveralls she saw half the women on the street wearing, and a train ticket to get the hellation out of Barsoom.

Where should she go? Nelly thought hard as she strode along in her new to her coverall, her maid’s outfit stuffed into her bag. She’d resell that garment as soon as possible but not in Barsoom.

She didn’t dare head anywhere towards Easternmost and Orlov. That soppy Miss Iolanthe might suspect she’d go there to be closer to her relatives at Orlov. As if she cared about that pack of ignorant serfs, happy to slave away for Orlov and get nothing in return. None of her family had ever understood her drive to have more. How they had twitted her on visits home because she was the daimyo’s doxy even though becoming his doxy earned her treats and coin (saved and carefully packed away in her bag) and favors and information, well beyond what the rest of the overworked maids in the castle got. No, she wouldn’t miss them.

There was Northernmost and Southernmost. Those free-cities were as far away from Barsoom as possible, being at the poles, but they would be cold. All the time. She’d heard stories that you couldn’t go outside the domes and tunnels or you’d freeze to death in seconds. Those could be wild stories, told to keep the serfs in their place but even so. Cold was cold and she didn’t like being cold. The further away she got from Barsoom, the safer she’d be, but further away and closer to the poles meant getting colder.

That left Westernmost. She was hazy on her geography but there were free-cities all along the equator road leading to Westernmost. One of those free-cities would have a place for an enterprising young woman who wanted more than what she’d been allotted at birth. She had heard equally wild stories about equator slavers and the horrible equator plantations worked by slave labor, but those were probably just stories. Probably. She’d just have to be careful and she was planning on being careful anyway.

Free-cities were full of predators preying on careless young women. They always had been and they always would be. Nothing new under the sun no matter where you went in the solar system. But there were other women, now. Women who weren’t careless. Women who forged their own paths, like she had been planning all along.

Nelly smiled to herself, thinking of Mrs. Pondicherry. Now there was a woman she’d like to imitate, unlike that goopy Miss Iolanthe who thought she was so clever. Mrs. Pondicherry did what she wanted and went where she wanted and she got respected for it. True, she’d bedded the sot in a variety of ways (the sot’s valet had gotten an eyeful and an earful and told her all about it), but everything Mrs. Pondicherry did (and she did a _lot_ ) was on _her_ terms. Not the sot’s, no matter what he thought.

She glanced down at her bosom filling out the drab coverall. Men liked her kind of body, round and ripe and lush. Why shouldn’t she extract as much coin out of it as she could, while she remained round and ripe and lush? Earn enough coin and she could retire to a life of luxury when she was good and ready. Mrs. Pondicherry did and she enjoyed herself while doing it, so said the valet. He hadn’t thought for one second she’d been faking. Mrs. Pondicherry, crop in hand, rode the sot like a yearling who needed breaking and made _him_ beg for more.

What a wonderful, exciting thought warming her down to her toes. The sot on his knees, begging for her favors. Other men would beg too. Who wouldn’t enjoy themselves in those circumstances?

A trolley stop waited ahead. She had no idea where its trolley went, but it would let her move more quickly out of the neighborhood when someone started looking for her. She’d watched them zoom by as she walked down the streets, traveling far faster than she could on foot. The trolley might be like the train from Orlov on the great Equator road. The staff would answer questions if you asked nicely and tipped in advance. The truth would serve very well as it so often did. Nothing worked better as a lie than the truth, carefully slanted to say what the listener wanted to hear. Nelly glanced down again at her swelling bosom. Two buttons undone and the conductor would never notice her face when she spoke to him.

She didn’t have to wait long. The trolley zoomed up and she asked the conductor if it went to the train station. No, this line didn’t but it connected with the line that did. She thanked him graciously, paid her coin, fluttered her eyelashes and made sure he got a good look down her coverall. He might remember her but he would never remember her face. He’d also remember to tell her when to change trolleys and she’d give him another eyeful as a reward.

Yes, she could make men beg for her, just like Mrs. Pondicherry did, and she’d be richly rewarded for her troubles. She could become an adventuress. She knew how ladies of the Four Hundred dressed and spoke and behaved, at least the ladies who had visited Orlov and the ladies she’d observed on the train. It wouldn’t be hard to imitate them. If Mrs. Pondicherry could — and Nelly didn’t believe for one second that Mrs. Pondicherry had been born with money and class — then so could she. Miss Iolanthe’s jewelry, the fake pearls, and the coin she’d saved would help fund her new life. She might even keep some of the fake pearls for herself since they were pretty and would remind her of everything she had escaped.

She’d never scrub another floor again, mend someone else’s clothes again, or have to wait on some woman who thought she should be grateful for the privilege. What a pleasure it was to envision stupid Miss Iolanthe’s face when she discovered how she’d been fooled with the truth. The dumb, crippled bint deserved everything she got, including marrying that abusive, worthless black sheep of a DelFino.


	22. unplesant realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I should have broken Walter’s legs along with his skull."

Charlton got everyone herded into the cavernous dining room of the DelFino townhouse, orders sent to the kitchens for dinner, and dispatched footmen to search for Nelly in the dark streets of Barsoom around Orlov’s townhouse as well as every alley and corner near the livery stable for Lannie. A discreet message was also hand-carried to Orlov’s backdoor to a furious and chagrined Matsuda.

“The only saving grace,” Charlton said, as he seated Iolanthe comfortably, “was that the entire DelFino family boycotted the wedding so we don’t have to deal with that pack of interfering fools.”

“Orlov as well,” she replied, thinking of what the family would say when they discovered how the sot had lost the Pearls. It was entirely possible someone would knife the sot as soon as he set foot on the demesne; even one of the serfs might be angry enough to take the risk. And desperate enough.

“We need to discuss what we’re doing tomorrow,” Ulla said. She had been thinking hard. There were still too many unanswered questions, especially concerning Walter’s role in the fiasco. She eyed Charlton uneasily. He already hated Walter. She couldn’t stop herself from gnawing at another abused fingernail.

“And tonight,” Dimitri added. “I’ve got to go back to Orlov’s townhouse to keep an eye on what mischief the sot and Albion are getting up to. I’ve also got to inform papa and Uncle Ljubo before the sot can lie to the rest of the family.”

Ulla gritted her teeth, did her duty, and plunged in as soon as Dimitri stopped talking. “Charlton? We think Walter was involved,” she said and told him, Iolanthe, and a hovering Grimaldi what she and Dimitri suspected.

When she finished, Charlton said, “I should have broken his skull open. That’s what he would do.”

“There’s also this letter the sot mentioned,” Ulla said. “Do either of you know anything about it?”

“I’m afraid I do,” Iolanthe replied and described the contents of the letter, flushing in embarrassment as she did so.

“That was what the sot was bragging about over dinner at home?” Dimitri asked, appalled. “Gleesh. No wonder you were so afraid of what Lannie would be like.”

He thought at once of Mrs. Pondicherry, an amoral adventuress if ever there was one. She would have written a letter like that, having personally enjoyed every single lewd act described (and then some) and, if it meant acquiring the Pearls of Orlov, cheerfully repeating them as often as necessary. The sot’s valet had kept him fully informed about the sot’s and Mrs. Pondicherry’s activities on the train. Dimitri had not passed the information on to his sister, as he thought it wildly unsuitable for an innocent young lady. It was bad enough that Iolanthe chatted with Mrs. Pondicherry on the train at every opportunity. He, on the other hand, enjoyed his flirtatious chats with Mrs. Pondicherry. She and they were stimulating.

“I should have broken Walter’s legs along with his skull,” Charlton said furiously. “My sister did not write that letter. Lannie’s held hands with boys, she’s danced, and she’s probably even gotten a stolen kiss or two. That was _Walter’s_ doing along with him asking the sot to bring the Pearls to Barsoom. It has to be. Ulla, Dimitri, you should have seen his face when the sot showed us the Pearls. He wants them, I think even more than he wants to become the daimyo of DelFino and he wants that more than anything.”

“Where is Walter?” Iolanthe asked. She boldly kept her hand on Charlton’s, hoping he felt her concern and regard.

“I believe at Keerkehgard’s townhouse, my lady,” Grimaldi said. “He often visits with his mother’s family when in Barsoom.”

“Terrific,” Charlton said. “Probably telling tales about his worthless black sheep of a DelFino cousin. He has to say something about his beating.”

“Charlton,” Iolanthe said, wishing she didn’t have to bring up the subject. “You should know the letter was written in a feminine hand. Do you have any of Lannie’s letters to compare? I am positive, based on what I saw, she was so terrified of the sot she was willing to do anything to get away. Walter may have dictated the letter but she wrote what he told her to say.”

“I saw them with their heads together,” Ulla said. “I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t believe what was going on with Albion and I should have. I failed —”

Charlton stood up and slammed both hands on the table, stopping Ulla in mid-sentence.

“Enough. It’s done now. We all made mistakes and we can’t go back and fix them,” he said. “Tomorrow, Iolanthe and I will go to the livery stable. I can grovel to that man if it gets me back my sister. After that, Shondra. Ulla, start visiting any Four Hundred families in residence in Barsoom. I’ll give you a list of Lannie’s friends. She had to go somewhere and her friends are her most likely choices.”

“I’ll start after dinner,” Ulla said, eying Charlton thoughtfully. “Tomorrow, though, I want to visit the train station first. Could Lannie have gone to Ranaglia?”

Charlton thought this over, scratching his stubble. “Maybe? It’s been a few years since we last visited but mama’s family is always asking us. But how would Lannie buy the tickets?”

“How bright is Lannie?” Iolanthe interrupted. “Both of you behave as though she’s easily led and has the cleverness and experience of a newborn lamb. Would she be foolish enough to trade some Pearls for a train ticket or a meal? If she did, she’s dead and they’re gone.”

Charlton sat down; his face icy. Ulla opened her mouth and he waved her to silence.

“When I’m done, Ulla,” he said. “Lannie’s not stupid. I refuse to believe she’d trade any part of the Pearls for a train ticket or anything else because she would know she’d be murdered for them.”

“It’s always possible people would think they’re fake,” Dimitri said helpfully. “They are spectacular, but even so, how many people would believe they’re real? Some of the Pearls are as big as my thumb.”

“Ahem,” Ulla said, firmly suppressing the word ‘moron’ although everyone could still hear it. “I wouldn’t count on that. Top quality fake pearls are worth good money. As for Lannie, Charlton’s right. She doesn’t think but not because she’s incapable. I think it’s because she hasn’t had to. I taught her all kinds of things and she picked them up fast. As fast as you did with Walter.”

“I will break every bone in his body for what he did to my sister,” Charlton said and made a fist. “And what he was _going_ to do to my sister.”

“Don’t waste the time,” Ulla commanded. “Not now. Lannie first.”

“We should go out as well,” Iolanthe said, holding Charlton’s hand in her left hand. She’d removed her gloves and her scars showed and no one gasped, cried out, or fainted at the horror. Ulla, Grimaldi, the footmen and the maids all looked and then got on with their business. It was as though her scarred left hand was just a hand like any other, perhaps not as attractive as most but still a hand.

“No. You’re tired. I can tell. Also, we’ll probably have Four Hundred visitors stop by while they’re out socializing for the evening.” He gazed into her eyes with his own hot, dark eyes. “I want to show you off.”

“Sensible,” Ulla commented. “After the fiasco at the cathedral the gossip must be flying like the wind. People will be stopping by the townhouse to find out more, especially since Zachery’s doing the social rounds to tell everyone that Albion’s been banned from DelFino.”

Charlton grinned widely, squeezed Iolanthe’s hand, and told Ulla and Dimitri about the reporter at the courthouse.

“Very sensible,” Ulla said after a moment’s thought. “You’ve ensured everyone in Barsoom will be talking about it. Grimaldi?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Inform the kitchen staff to be ready for a parade of guests.”

“Already done, my lady. Miss Iolanthe suggested it just now, when you were discussing the reporter.”

“Oh. Well done,” Ulla said. “About your clothes, Iolanthe. We’ll go through the closets and get you set up for tonight and tomorrow and then I’ll go out visiting.” She sent a searching, speaking glance to Iolanthe hoping she’d read the hidden message: we need to talk privately.

Iolanthe caught the message. “Yes, definitely. I’d like to receive visitors in something more fitting. If you don’t mind?”

Charlton leaned across to kiss her gently. “Good idea. I’ll get cleaned up too.”

* * *

Ulla didn’t waste time. As soon as they were behind closed doors, with the maids scurrying around with garment after garment, making hasty alterations on the spot, she plunged in with a quick recital of her day with Dimitri, her thoughts thereof, and her recommendations as to how Orlov could best handle the Pearls. She finished up with “I keep telling people I can’t do my best work without facts. Too many of our problems right now are because we haven’t been talking.”

“I agree. Are you sure you won’t stay for the first onslaught of guests?”

“No, I think you’ll do fine. Here’s what you need to know about who may call.” She rattled off a list of names and descriptions, starting with the families of Lannie’s friends. As she spoke, Ulla jotted down the family names for later reference. “I’ve got too many people to call on, looking for Lannie, to stay here with you. Not everyone will come to the DelFino townhouse. Don’t let Charlton get sullen. He’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of a boulder.”

“Considering what I’ve been learning about how Albion treated him, I am not surprised,” Iolanthe replied. “Good luck and if you find Lannie,”

“I’ll bring her home at once,” Ulla said, completing the thought. She grinned suddenly. “If you and Charlton have gone to bed, should I interrupt you?”

Iolanthe felt her entire body flame. Tonight would be her wedding night, something she had never believed she’d enjoy. She’d arrived in Barsoom, witnessed the travesty at the cathedral, met Charlton, had her very first kiss ever, and within a few hours, she’d be naked in his arms in his bed. It had been a very full day and it was going to get fuller.

“Uh,” she said, unable to form more coherent words because of the images flooding her brain. He would see her naked. She would see him. She’d never seen a completely naked man, only tasteful line drawings discreetly passed around at the finishing school in Nourz. Reality, she suspected, would be rather different.

“I won’t tease you any further,” Ulla said. “I’m not known for having a sense of humor so I’m not any good at it.”

“Uh, yes?” Iolanthe squeaked. It _was_ important to know if Lannie had been rescued.

Ulla grinned more widely. “I’ll listen at the door first.”

Iolanthe wanted to sink through the floor in embarrassment. How did people do this in a house full of other people? And with someone they barely knew?

“I’ll ask Charlton,” Ulla said.

“ _No_! I mean, I don’t know what I mean,” Iolanthe spluttered while waving her hands madly. “Do you really think you’ll find Lannie?”

Ulla’s face went grim and she forced her own hands to her sides to keep her fingernails away from her mouth. “I don’t know. Lannie doesn’t think but she’s not stupid. She’s got plenty of friends but she might be afraid their family would return her to Albion rather than court trouble with DelFino or worse, to the sot. She won’t know that Albion’s been banned from DelFino and she certainly doesn’t know Albion was poisoning her mother with the help of Mistress Vaughn. She must have been out that window as soon as she thought of climbing through it, instead of waiting around and listening at the keyhole.”

“No,” Iolanthe said, very glad to be back on safe conversational ground. “She wouldn’t have hung around to see what happened next. She would have run. Anyone sensible would.”

“I think,” Ulla said thoughtfully, “that Lannie would be most likely to run to Shondra Chee Sakamoto. Shondra’s not Four Hundred. She doesn’t like us after her experience with Sakamoto and I suppose I can’t blame her.” She eyed Iolanthe. “Like the livery stable owner, Shondra will find a way to avoid the issue rather than tell the truth if she’s hiding Lannie. Shondra doesn’t like me and she won’t tell me anything. Charlton? Maybe, but only if you’re along.”

A maid answered the knock on the door.

“Miss Ulla? Guests are arriving,” Susan said breathlessly, running back from the door.

“Already? That was fast,” Ulla said. “Ready?”

“Yes,” Iolanthe said. Charlton would help her down the stairs and she’d be onstage in Barsoom among the Four Hundred, at Charlton’s side. She wished she had her veil, sheer as it was, then squared her shoulders. She didn’t want to hide her plainness behind pearl-embroidered gauze.

* * *

The evening was interesting. Iolanthe made sparkling conversation with gossip-hungry strangers and, as she discovered through careful questions, many of them knew of Orlov. Some guests also knew who she was; she gave silent thanks to her wide network of penpals, although sadly, none of them were in attendance. It would have been very pleasant to meet friends in person she only knew through paper. Ulla’s rapid briefing of who might call while they searched for suitable garments also came in handy. Charlton never went too far from her side, but he didn’t hover as though he thought she was incapable of functioning. It was flattering.

As earlier at dinner, all the guests noticed her hand, regloved but still twisted and her cane, open to view, but no one recoiled in horror. In fact, one of the older women, someone from Keerkehgard, wanted to know where she had gotten her cane since she used one herself for her arthritis. That worthy dowager spent some time ranting on the total lack of style she had been forced to endure while admiring the efforts the craftsman at Orlov had put into Iolanthe’s collection of canes and walking sticks. They also discussed Walter and Iolanthe related how insulting he had been and how Charlton had broken his nose for it. The dowager had been thoughtful and departed soon afterwards.

All the while though, at the back of her mind, Iolanthe fretted over where Lannie had gone and, more importantly, what she was going to do with Charlton once they were behind closed doors.

* * *

Rastislav finished screaming at the servants, starting and ending with a stoic Matsuda, then announced he was going out.

“I should come as well,” Albion said. “I’m an excellent dinner party guest.”

“Bah. You’ve been banned from DelFino. No doors will open for you.”

Albion laughed. “On the contrary, every door will open for me and you as well. Everyone will want to hear my side of the story. I can introduce you as my future son-in-law, a victim of my little girl’s bridal jitters. We’ll tell everyone how desperate you are to rescue the beautiful girl you met at the altar and fell in love with at first sight.”

“No,” Rastislav sneered. “You can stay here and away from hostesses’ card tables.”

“As you wish,” Albion said cheerfully. The daimyo of Orlov would find out soon enough that every door was closed to him, without Albion DelFino along to grease the way. While he waited (working on his dice and card skills) he watched the night sky, heavy with clouds, and prayed for rain. A heavy, cold, soaking rain would bring Yilanda to her senses.

***

The evening finally ended. None of the horde of visitors had seen Lannie or knew where she had vanished to but her jilting the daimyo of Orlov followed by her dramatic and mysterious escape from the cathedral was _the_ topic of conversation, closely followed by Zachery banning Albion from DelFino and of course, Albion’s poisoning of his wife. Iolanthe noted with interest that her hasty, questionable marriage to Charlton, performed by the justice of the peace as if they were plebs and not aristocrats, came in a distant fourth. No one brought up the Pearls of Orlov, vanished along with Lannie, at all.

With the guests gone, she was able to relax. She’d done it. She had entertained a crowd of strangers in Barsoom, held her head high, and no one had said anything rude about her nonexistent dowry, plain face, crippled hand or her cane. They might be discussing her complete unsuitability to marry into DelFino during the carriage ride home and would talk more about the subject tomorrow, but not now. Not to her face.

Charlton returned from the front door.

“It hasn’t rained yet. That’s a plus. Wherever Lannie is, she’s dry.”

“Yes, that’s something,” Iolanthe said softly. “I wish she had found sanctuary with one of her friends. Would they have been truthful with us?”

He sank down onto the sofa next to her and pulled her close.

“I think so. Dad poisoning mama and being banned means _he_ doesn’t have any say about Lannie’s safety. No one’s going to worry about offending DelFino by protecting Lannie after hearing that story. Her friends will want to see her safely home.”

She had to focus on his words, hard to do with his arm around her and his hard body pressed against hers.

Grimaldi entered the salon and she was conflicted by the competing demands of propriety and desire. She didn’t move.

“Sir, none of the footmen have located Miss Yilanda.”

“Damnation,” Charlton swore. “That Nelly either, I suppose?”

“You have the right of it.”

“Has Ulla returned?”

“Not yet.” The butler eyed them. “Should I have you and my lady Iolanthe awoken when she returns?”

“If it’s good news, yes,” Charlton said. “Same with my lord Zachery when he returns. Otherwise, let us sleep. We’ve got people to talk to in the morning and I’ll do a better job persuading them if I’m fresh.”

“Very good, sir. Ring the bell in the morning and I will have breakfast brought up to your suite.”

“Thank you, Grimaldi. Get some sleep yourself,” Charlton said.

Grimaldi closed the door to the salon, leaving them alone on the sofa. Iolanthe realized with a shock she was alone with Charlton; deliberately left unchaperoned behind a closed door. She had never been alone with a strange man, ever. Even when they’d sat side by side on the trolley, they’d been surrounded by hordes of strangers.

It felt very strange to be alone with him, behind closed doors. Her husband. Maybe not quite yet her husband, but close enough. Charlton had made it plain to every visitor that they would marry as soon as they set foot on DelFino. Unless he — or she! — was run over by a trolley between now and then, the actual ceremony was a formality. Charlton would be shamed across the Four Hundred if he didn’t marry her after today.

He really meant what he said.

“I like that you didn’t wear your veil.”

She glanced at him, so close she could kiss his cheek. It was an enticing thought. She yanked her unruly thoughts back under control.

“Veils aren’t the fashion here in Barsoom and I wanted to fit in better,” she said.

“They do have one advantage,” Charlton said and leaned closer, his lips against her ear. He breathed out, making her shiver.

“Oh?” She couldn’t think. Her bones felt like they were liquid and heat pooled in her groin. He was so _male_ and he wanted her. Maybe it was just sex, but he _wanted_ her. No man ever had before. Why did he want her? It was becoming increasingly difficult to think.

“I can take a veil off, like I plan on taking off your dress, layer by layer and kissing you between each layer.”

“Oh.” She sucked in her breath. He’d see her naked. She’d see him. _He_ might be repelled, but she didn’t think she would be, by him.

He kissed her then, little light kisses working his way from her ear across her cheek to her mouth. He knew what he was doing even if all _her_ information came from whispered conversations and hints in racy novels. She decided to be brave, wiggled around against him and then her mouth was on his, open and he kissed her deeper than he had ever done before, even in the justice of the peace’s office at the courthouse. It was pleasure such as she’d never had before and to her astonishment, Iolanthe could feel her body wanting more. As if her body knew something she didn’t. She pushed herself against his broad chest, reveling in the sensation of his hard body against her much softer one.

What would this embrace feel like without the barrier of clothing?

A bolt of sanity flashed by. They were on a sofa in a public room. The door was closed, but it wasn’t a private space, like a bedchamber. Anyone, a maid, could walk in.

She pulled away, blinking and panting.

Charlton pulled her closer and began nibbling along her neck making her realize why Mrs. Pondicherry’s low necklines were so scandalous. It wasn’t just the exposure. There wasn’t any cloth barrier blocking skin on skin contact.

“Should we be here?”

He stopped nibbling and looked around the room, his eyes dark with lust.

“Probably not.” He grinned and nipped at her ear, making her gasp and shiver. “But it is fun. Still, we’ve got a big bed waiting upstairs for us.”

“Oh.” She really hadn’t thought this out. A big bed she’d share with Charlton. All night. Every night. She would sleep with him. She couldn’t think at all, only feel the need surging through her.

He looked more serious. “I won’t push you, but I do want you. We’ll go slow and I _will_ please you.” He blew against her neck, making her shiver again. “Over and over.”

Charlton let go and stood, looming over her, sprawled on the sofa in the most lascivious way. He took her hand and helped her to her feet.

“Yes,” Iolanthe breathed out, grasping his hand like a lifeline. “Yes.”

* * *

Once again, Charlton carried Iolanthe up a flight of stairs, despite her protests.

“I sat for several hours. I can manage stairs when I’m rested and this one has a nice railing and wide steps,” she said.

“I like carrying you. I like feeling you snuggled up right next to me,” Charlton answered. “There’s just thin layers of cloth between us.”

“Oh.”

Dimitri had never said such a thing, nor had any of the footmen who had helped her up or down a staircase. Iolanthe wondered suddenly what the footmen, young and strong, had thought when they carried her. She’d never asked. They had felt her body pressed against theirs too. She’d never thought of herself as attractive. She had a body that didn’t work as well as others and she assumed everyone saw her like the sot did: damaged and ugly. As Charlton carried her, she thought of how the footmen were always available to help her. Was it just because she was a member of the family or was there something more? She was well-regarded by the servants of Orlov. Perhaps that was it. It couldn’t be that footmen found her attractive. Could it?

They reached the top of the stairs. Gracious but Charlton was strong as an ox. His biceps felt thicker than her thighs.

“I should put you down,” he murmured. “But you feel good. You smell so sweet. I can’t wait to get your clothes off to see if you look as good as you feel.”

Oh.

Oh dear.

What dream girl image did Charlton see? It wasn’t her and he’d be disappointed and what might have worked as a partnership wouldn’t if he was disappointed. Or angry at being deceived.

A thought flashed by; a memory of what Charlton had said on the trolley on the way to the justice of the peace. He hadn’t said he always planned to marry her. He said he had always planned to take her to DelFino. Not the same thing at all.

“Stop,” Iolanthe commanded. “Put me down.” She repeated what Charlton had said on the trolley. “What made you change your mind and rush forward with this marriage?”

Charlton studied her face, his own inscrutable. “All right.” He set her on her feet gently and she found herself clinging to him again rather than leaping away.

“Nervous?” he asked.

“Yes, I am!” Iolanthe stared all around the spacious balcony rather than look at him and see distaste in his eyes. “I don’t know what Dimitri told you. I don’t want to disappoint you. Or disgust you.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw relief flash across his face. How strange.

“You won’t,” Charlton said. “I expected to marry you because of what Dimitri told me. I thought we’d get to know each other better in DelFino first. I didn’t know if _you_ would agree when you saw me.”

She caught iron pride covering a world of rejection in his voice. A prince of DelFino expected her to say no.

“We’re strangers. I hoped we would come to care about each other in DelFino.” He lifted her chin to his face, making it easy to gaze into his hot, dark eyes.

“Then I saw you at the cathedral. You walked out from behind that screen, scared to death. You were shaking. You didn’t know anything about mine and Dimitri’s plans. You must have thought you were throwing away your chance to escape Orlov when you confronted me to save my sister from the sot.”

He gazed down into her eyes. “You did it anyway, Iolanthe. You were brave. You were ready to sacrifice your chance at happiness to save my sister; someone you didn’t know. That’s when I knew I could marry you.”

She couldn’t speak and she didn’t have to.

Charlton lowered his mouth to hers and she met him, opening her mouth to his kiss and herself to him. He had seen the quality of her character and he had not found her wanting.

He kissed her deeply, on the balcony overlooking the DelFino townhouse entry hall, and he didn’t care who saw. Neither did she.

“I can love you,” he whispered. “I hope you can love me.”

“Yes. Kiss me again,” she whispered back and he did.

* * *

The bedchamber was opulent, tasteful, elegant. There was only one bed and it was more than large enough for two. Charlton led her by the hand to the bed, the door closed and locked behind them.

“I hope I won’t disappoint you,” he said.

“I don’t think you can,” Iolanthe said and giggled. “I never dreamed anyone would want me.”

“I’m a hairy guy. Not every woman likes that. Not tall and handsome, either.”

“I can’t run across a room, let alone down a street. I’m plain.”

He laughed suddenly. “We must be made for each other,” he said and began stripping off his clothes.

Iolanthe watched from the bed. He took his time about it, giving her time to contemplate him. His jacket, his shirt, his pants, then undergarments. Naked. She was watching a muscular, naked man and it was very obvious he wanted her. Male genitals were so flamboyant compared to her own, much more discreet body. Charlton strutted, there was no other word for it, to the bed, his impressive cock leading the way. The tip glistened and she couldn’t think at all. He was hairy, a thick matt of black hair that didn’t obscure his muscled chest, and his skin was a drab, muddy green. No upper caste emerald for Charlton DelFino. His body hair trailed off across his tight stomach, then thickened again at his groin into an exuberant mass of fleece.

He looked nothing like a tasteful, almost sanitary line drawing.

She was panting and began struggling with the closures on her dress. She didn’t have a maid to help her undress and then he was on the bed with her and she didn’t need one. He undressed her and he’d had some practice. Charlton took his time, kissing her and whispering to her and heat surged through her.

Once he’d stripped her, he stepped back to admire her.

“Damn, but you look good,” Charlton said joyfully.

Every concern, every thought vanished, and all she could think about was him. Not Lannie’s whereabouts and not the Pearls of Orlov.

* * *

Ulla visited one Four Hundred townhouse after another, doing what she normally never did: socialize. She could talk endlessly about practical matters, but polite conversation about nothing in particular was beyond her. To her horror, she found herself wishing she had paid more attention to Albion’s instructions about the art of sparkling conversation. Walter had listened and frequently mentioned she was ignoring the one worthwhile subject Albion was qualified to teach. Walter, damn him, had been right. Even so, she did her duty to Lannie. That was a practical subject and one that other members of the Four Hundred were interested in. Regrettably, no one had seen Lannie and no one admitted to harboring her.

Visiting people who openly thought she lacked a charming personality did yield one positive result. Ulla took great pleasure in telling everyone how Albion tried to poison Constance, sell Lannie to the raddled, abusive sot, and cheat Orlov all in order to pay his gambling debts. Even if Zachery hadn’t banned Albion from DelFino (another topic Ulla made sure to bring up whether the conversation warranted it or not), he would never be on any hostess’s guest list again. She thought it strange that his criminal mismanagement and neglect of DelFino lands didn’t matter to any of the people she spoke to. Where did they think their own wealth came from? Moon dust, pride, and wishful thinking?

All the while, Ulla left messages for everyone she knew who also knew Lannie. “Come home. You’re safe. We love you. All is forgiven.”

She hoped her hard work would eventually pay off when she returned hours later to the DelFino townhouse, exhausted and with no good news. She did not mention the theft of the Pearls of Orlov to anyone, despite understanding — as no one else seemed to — that if they admitted Lannie had the Pearls and a finder’s fee would be paid out of them to her rescuer, everyone on Mars would search for her with enthusiasm.

* * *

Dimitri thought long and hard on what to do next. He had to keep track of the sot, keep him from spending what was left of Orlov’s cash reserves (with the Pearls vanished along with Lannie, the surety behind the debt load had vanished too), and keep Albion from encouraging the sot to behave even worse. He also had to update papa and Uncle Ljubo and Morley at once. At the same time, he had to keep Charlton and Iolanthe informed. If the sot and Albion found Lannie first, she would suffer. Charlton had to reach her first.

As he walked back to the Orlov townhouse through Barsoom’s busy streets he reran his conversations with Ulla. The harpy was right about them needing to communicate better. But who could he rely on in the Orlov townhouse to help him?

Then it hit him. There was someone in Orlov’s townhouse who cared very much what happened to the demesne. Not to the family. To the demesne. Someone who had eyes and ears everywhere and who knew how to manage the sot. Someone who could be trusted not to talk. Someone who had family of his own, both in Barsoom and at home in Orlov, dependent on how well the demesne functioned.

He returned home to Orlov’s townhouse and had a long, private conversation behind a locked door with Matsuda. The butler was furious with Nelly and with himself for being fooled by such a sly-boots. He had already heard plenty about Mrs. Pondicherry from the sot’s valet and was relieved _she_ wasn’t a guest. He was appalled to hear the full story behind Albion DelFino’s schemes. Most of all, he was horrified to learn that the sot had lost the Pearls of Orlov.

“I will not speak of this with anyone, sir,” Matsuda said. He paused and studied Dimitri coolly, not quite meeting his eyes. “I am overstepping my boundaries to say this but can’t you or someone in the family shove the sot out the highest window of Orlov castle?”

Dimitri blinked. The sot was completely out of control to get the always calm and collected butler to advocate murder. Then he remembered what Morley had said all those weeks ago about the desperation of the serfs. What papa said. Uncle Ljubo too. The mutterings of the servants when they thought no one was around. And what Ulla said while they were trying to find Lannie. And Iolanthe on the train during long, quiet conversations.

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

“He is destroying the demesne,” Matsuda said, looking Dimitri full in the eye as he never did. “The family must do something if Orlov is to be saved.”

“I will,” Dimitri replied. “We will.”

“Yes, sir,” Matsuda said. “In the meantime, I will keep you appraised as to the sot’s activities and those of our unwanted houseguest.”

“Is Albion harassing the maids already?” Dimitri asked wearily, catching Matsuda’s disapproving tone. Another problem to deal with.

“Dice and cards only, my lord. I have instructed the staff to refuse him, making him petulant. The sot had me lock up the wine and brandy, increasing his petulance. That rotted ham has already complained that our housemaids are battleaxes and crones. As for the sot, I am steering him towards the whores of Barsoom. Those girls are disposable.”

“True, true.” A thought flashed by. “Ah! That’s why all the pretty maids keep having family emergencies back home.”

“You have it correct, my lord. It’s safer for them to starve as serfs, toiling on the land, than to work in the heart of Barsoom in the townhouse.”

Dimitri found himself staring at the grim butler, a fourth-generation servant in the Orlov townhouse. Matsuda’s father and grandfather had held the position and Matsuda’s own son was a footman, training to be his father’s replacement.

“You have my word, Matsuda. I will do what I must to save Orlov.”

“See that you do, my lord Dimitri,” Matsuda said and bowed.


	23. top 10 places you shouldnt sleep -- number 5 will surprise you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nobody is supposed to sleep in a park.”

Lannie clung to Fen for dear life, increasingly tired, hungry, thirsty, and desperate to pee. It got darker and darker, the heavy clouds concealing the stars. She could barely see. She had no idea where they were and didn’t dare complain. Fen might dump her off and she’d really be in the soup. Those darn pearls. She should have left them behind. If anyone saw them, they might think they were fake, but that wouldn’t stop a mugger from beating her into a pulp to get them. Would he never stop? And his horse didn’t seem to be tired at all. They were trotting down yet another poorly lit street, lined with tired buildings and grubby people on foot.

A darker area loomed up ahead, a huge black void on the street, and she hoped Fen would pass it by at a good, brisk pace. It looked exactly like the kind of place muggers and thieves lurked, waiting to leap out and assault travelers.

“There’s where we’ll spend the night,” Fen said and tipped his head towards the darker, shadier, gloomier patch of night ahead of them on the right.

“There?” Lannie squealed. She’d be dead within the hour but she’d be off the damn horse and she could pee.

“Yeah,” Fen replied. “It’s some kind of park. I scouted it out a few days ago. There’s a thicket where we can sleep and I can get Coppertail fresh water.”

“Okay,” Lannie said, because it wasn’t like she could demand a nice hotel instead. “Is there anything to eat?” she added hopefully. “And some water for us?”

Fen felt himself wanting to smile. He was about to make this girl, who hadn’t whined nonstop like he had been expecting, very happy.

“Yeah, I got mil-rats and full waterskins.”

“Oh,” Lannie said, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. What the heck were mil-rats? They did not sound appetizing. And waterskins were something peasants drank out of. But it was food and water and she didn’t want to complain or she might not get anything to eat or drink at all.

Fen steered Coppertail off the street and into the overgrown area, twisted and held out his arm. He said, “Grab hold and slide off as best you can. I’ve got to dismount.”

Lannie swallowed her fear, cautiously let go of Fen’s waist, held his braced arm, and carefully slid to the ground, hoping and praying that Fen wouldn’t gallop away as soon as her feet hit the ground.

He didn’t. He swiftly swung down and then to her surprise, tossed her back into the saddle. She grabbed at Coppertail’s mane to have something to hold onto; Fen had Coppertail’s reins in his hand. Just as well; it wasn’t like Coppertail would obey _her_. He led the horse, Lannie clinging on, into an even darker part of the park, following an almost invisible trail through thick brambly bushes. After what felt like an hour but was really only minutes, he stopped in a clearing. It was slightly lighter than the surrounding dense shrubbery and open to the sky.

“We’ll camp here.”

Camping. Not one of her favorite things to do, especially when it had been threatening rain for hours. The sky overhead was a uniform mass of solid dark gray.

“Sound’s good,” Lannie managed. Once off Coppertail, her legs burned from awkwardly hanging onto the horse for hours. Gleesh, but she didn’t like riding. How on Mars was Fen managing when he’d been beaten up by Charlton, Walter, and Dimitri? “Is there a, uh, rest area?”

“What? Oh! Go in the bushes,” Fen said. “I’ll be right back after I’ve gotten Coppertail some water.”

Lannie gaped at him in the dim light. She could just about make out his features. Then, to her horror, he led the gelding out of the clearing, back down the narrow path they had entered, leaving her alone in the dark.

She wanted to faint but her bladder had other ideas and Lannie found herself wiggling through twiggy, thorny brambles and shrugging off her coverall.

Dressed again, with hands wiped as best she could on leaves, she struggled back to the clearing, hoping Fen had returned.

He hadn’t. She stood there shivering, with her arms wrapped around herself, listening to the night sounds of an abandoned park in Barsoom. Was this where muggers hid? She couldn’t imagine a park being abandoned in Barsoom; every park she’d ever seen in the free-city had been immaculate so maybe this wasn’t a park, but then what was this place besides a hideout for thieves and cutthroats? She paced back and forth, flinching every time she snapped a twig or some unknown creature made frightening noises (there were a lot of them from the sounds). They were supposed to sleep here? She was going to sleep with a strange man in the dark in the park?

If she was still alive in the morning, she could beg Fen to take her to Shondra’s house. Except she had no idea where Shondra lived in relation to where they were now. Wherever here was. He seemed resourceful so maybe he could find Shondra. Damnation! She wanted to kick herself. She was remembering Shondra’s _last_ address. Her friend had recently moved; the new address was in Shondra’s most recent letter in her luggage at the DelFino townhouse.

She couldn’t run to Shondra. It was just as well, Lannie reflected. Shondra didn’t need the aggravation of DelFino or Orlov harassing her, not after what she went through with Sakamoto. Also, it would be the first place Charlton would look. If he was looking for her. Would he? He kept saying not to worry and she still hadn’t worked out why.

A twig snapped, louder than any of the ones she had broken and a horse nickered, very close in the dark.

She gasped and her heart started pounding harder.

“Lannie. It’s me, Fen. We’re coming into the clearing. We’ll make camp, eat, and settle in for the night.”

“Okay?” Lannie said. At least she’d eat and get some water before Fen murdered her.

* * *

Lannie sounded terrified. Fen wondered again what had driven a girl to run off with a total stranger, especially one as beaten up as he was and one who looked like a savage compared to the average citizen of Barsoom. He would have to be cautious to not upset her still further. Damn whoever it was in DelFino and Orlov who had hurt her so badly.

He led Coppertail back into the clearing, then hobbled the gelding so he couldn’t run off but would have some freedom to graze and move about.

“I’m going to light a fire, a small one for tea,” he said. All that practice Pello had insisted on was about to pay off. His tinder was dry, there were plenty of twigs, but it was so dark he could just about see. He’d be working mostly by feel. He hurt all over, but setting a fire didn’t demand much exertion; just patience.

“You sit and rest, Lannie. Soon as I get the fire going, we’ll get tea and we’ll eat. Then we’ll turn in.”

It took longer than he would have liked, but he finally got a spark willing to be coaxed into a flame. The light was welcome, far more so than the tiny amount of heat. He didn’t want a bigger fire, not here in an abandoned park in Barsoom. Light from a fire might draw attention to him and Lannie. A tiny flame could be seen for an astonishingly long way, even through the shroud of twiggy, leafy bushes surrounding them.

With some light, he swiftly unpacked his bedroll, his rocket stove, his tea, his kuksa, the mil-rats, and a waterskin.

“Water?” He held out the leather waterskin.

Lannie looked askance at the waterskin, her throat feeling like sand. Decision made, she took the waterskin and drank. The water was so cool and wet and wonderful. The slightly off taste didn’t matter in the least.

When she handed it back, Fen took his own, long drink, then poured more water into a tiny contraption set atop the fire.

Next, he opened up another bag and pulled out some small bricks.

“Mil-rats,” he said by way of explanation. “I don’t like them, but they’re free and they’ll keep us alive if you don’t mind the work of chewing them.”

Lannie took the brick, surprisingly heavy for its size. She stripped off the paper wrapping and bit into it. It was dry and crisp and she was so hungry she didn’t care that it tasted like stale raisins flavored with mold.

“Sit down,” Fen said and indicated a spot on the ground next to him. “Closer to the fire.”

“Thank you,” Lannie said and sank down onto her haunches. The ground, thankfully, was dry even if it was rough and uneven and full of twigs and stickers and probably a million kinds of bugs crawling all over the place.

Once they’d wolfed down two mil-rats apiece — they were more filling than they looked — the water was hot enough for tea. Fen poured boiling water over mint leaves in a black cup, the mint pulled from a pouch in his saddlebags. The smell was comforting and familiar. He handed her the cup. It was carved from wood, she thought, looking at it curiously in the flickering light. It must have been used for years to have turned so dark.

She blew on it, watching steam escape to the sky. “Don’t you need a cup?” she asked after her first cautious swallow. The warmth curled down to her stomach, strengthening her in a way the mil-rats had not.

“We’re gonna share.”

“Oh.”

They passed the cup back and forth in silence, Lannie wondering what she would say to any questions Fen would ask and Fen wondering if he should ask this strange girl where she was going and what she was running from.

When the cup emptied, he stood and stretched and yawned.

“I’m gonna set up my bedroll for you. I’ll sleep next to you, so’s we stay warm. Soon as dawn comes, we’ll eat again and head out.”

“Okay,” Lannie said. He was going to sleep directly on the ground and she wasn’t. She decided she wasn’t going to question his decision, not if it meant she had a layer of _anything_ between her and dirt crawling with bugs and slimy worms. On the other hand.

“Um,” she said. “Um, what if it rains?”

He grinned, his teeth flashing in the firelight. “We’ll get wet.”

She squinched her eyes shut and couldn’t quite suppress a plaintive moan. The characters in the novels she read somehow always managed to find cozy inns with welcoming innkeepers, good cooks, and friendly staff.

Fen studied her distress. “I don’t think it will, though. The air doesn’t seem right, not damp enough for rain. It might blow over.”

“Do you really think so?” Lannie asked eagerly.

He sighed. “I hope so. I’m not real weather-wise and I’m a long way from home where I could make a better guess. I’ll set up my bedroll, get you taken care of, Coppertail seen to one last time, and then I’ll lay out next to you. Dawn will come soon enough and we need to rest, all of us.”

“Okay,” Lannie said again. She couldn’t think of anything useful to say, other than to agree to whatever this scruffy stranger wanted. She was exhausted, she hurt all over, and she was afraid she’d start crying again. At least she had a wet throat, a full tummy, and an empty bladder. That meant far more than she would have ever dreamed. It made birthday gifts pale by comparison. She’d never get a gift on her birthday again from mama. Or Charlton. Or daddy, damn him for putting her in this position and poisoning mama.

Fen unstrapped a waxed tarp and a heavy wool blanket, shook them out and spread them for Lannie. She lay down, trying hard to sound appreciative while every single rock in the ground underneath poked her. Fen showed her how to pull the wool around her. It smelled like him and horse and sheep.

He tamped out the fire, did something in the dark with the horse, then lay down next to her as close as he could.

Lannie went rigid.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Lannie,” Fen whispered. His voice was right next to her ear. “Go to sleep.”

Night sounds filled the air, almost covering up her pounding heart, and she lay quietly, tensely in the dark, and Fen didn’t grab at her, just rolled over and pushed up against her, his back tight against her body. Only wool separated them. She ached all over and she knew she would never sleep because no one could possibly sleep under these circumstances and then suddenly, Fen was shaking her awake, his hand covering her mouth as though to stop her from screaming.

“Dawn,” he whispered. “No noise! We got to get moving.”

“Huh? Why are we whispering?” Lannie mumbled, trying to come back to life and figure out where she was. She blinked and looked all around at the dim, shady trees and the slowly lightening sky. It was still overcast, but not as dark as it had been when they’d settled in for the night.

“There’s people moving around outside the thicket.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and nodded in determined agreement. She couldn’t move as quietly as Fen did, but she made every effort to follow his lead, be useful, or stay out of the way when she didn’t know what to do.

Once he’d broken camp and repacked Coppertail, he whispered, “I’m gonna look around. Stay with Coppertail. I’ll be back quick. We’ll eat as soon as it’s safe.”

Lannie nodded and again waited nervously in the thicket, but this time, she leaned up against Coppertail’s reassuringly warm bulk. She wasn’t alone and since it was very, very doubtful Fen would abandon his horse, he wouldn’t abandon her either. Or he’d come back for his horse and _then_ abandon her. She listened anxiously for any sound but heard only insects and birdcalls and then, at last, Fen’s footsteps.

“We got to be quick. I don’t think this is a park and I don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” he whispered.

“Well, duh. Nobody is supposed to sleep in a park,” Lannie whispered back. “Only vagrants sleep in parks and they get arrested.” She wanted to bite off her tongue. She’d snapped at him like she would have to Charlton. He’d abandon her for sure.

“Then why does Barsoom have parks?” Fen asked. “No, tell me later.”

“Okay.” He wasn’t abandoning her. Not yet.

He lifted her up onto Coppertail, took the reins and led the gelding and Lannie out of the thicket, moving as fast as he dared. As soon as they reached open ground, he shifted Lannie back and mounted the gelding and spurred him to a canter.

“Hey! You there! Stop!”

Lannie clutched Fen while he ignored the shouting behind them. In a few minutes they were out onto the street. He reined Coppertail back to a trot, and threaded their way through the dawn traffic as fast it would allow, always heading north. Another few blocks of using parallel streets and he’d have to shift back to the Pole-to-Pole corridor road, despite the heavier traffic. Even with Lannie’s extra weight on Coppertail, he calculated they would be outside the city by nightfall. The steppes would be safer than a park. That had been one uncomfortable night (and not just because he hurt all over from the beating in the livery stable) wedged up against Lannie, and unable to do anything about it. Not that he would. He’d promised and he didn’t know her and he wasn’t going to treat her the way those DelFino and Orlov bastards must have. Even so, it had been a long night with a long day ahead of them; her so close behind him he could hear her breathing, smell her scent, feel her arms around his waist and her oddly lumpy body pressed into his back and another long night to come.

Fen sternly commanded his body to behave and quit thinking about the pretty girl clinging to him and focus on the road ahead, the road that would get them the hell out of Barsoom.

* * *

Iolanthe yawned and stretched and gradually woke up in a strange bed and she wasn’t alone. Charlton slept next to her; the morning light sifting through the gauzy draperies illuminated his stocky, heavily muscled body. She could hear the traffic from the street in the front of the DelFino townhouse and realized the windows had been open all night long. She hoped they hadn’t been too loud.

Charlton had not been disgusted by her misshapen hip or the twist to her left leg. “You need to stop listening to the sot,” was what he had said after he’d gotten her naked and was busily, happily exploring her body while she explored his. “You look delicious and you have the best tits ever.”

She lay there, feeling boneless and refreshed and sore and sticky between her legs. Gracious. No wonder people made such a fuss about sex. The pleasure had been intense and unprecedented. It was hard to believe that any woman refused Charlton DelFino yet, so he said, they did. Fortunately — she smiled up at the painted ceiling of fluffy clouds against the bluest sky — enough of them said yes that he knew what he was doing.

He stirred next to her and she shifted her weight, reality returned with a slap, and she couldn’t suppress a groan.

Charlton woke up fully. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I often wake up with twinges and aches. I have my maid massage my leg first thing and then I’m fine,” she replied.

“Uh huh,” Charlton said. He grinned at her. “How about I start with your toes and work my way up.”

She flushed. His cock was stirring to life again, pressed against her bare thigh. “Um, yes?”

“Yes.”

Sometime later, Iolanthe said dreamily, “I should wake up like this every morning.”

“I would be happy to oblige. Breakfast next and then we’ll figure out what to do about Lannie.” He got up, naked and exiting and so very male, and pulled the servant’s bell. Someone down in the kitchens would be waiting for the signal and breakfast would be on its way.

Hot shame sluiced over her. She hadn’t thought about Lannie or her whereabouts since they’d closed the bedchamber door. All she’d thought about was her own selfish needs, including eating. What was Lannie eating right now? Did she have anything to eat?

Charlton had been watching her face. “Hey, none of that. We’ll find Lannie and the Pearls. She holed up for the night and we’ll find her. She’s probably with Shondra.”

“Do you know where Shondra lives?”

“No, but Lannie got a letter from Shondra just before we left for Barsoom. She took it with her to read and it will have the address.”

“I should have —”

He interrupted her. “No. We talked to that reporter, Ulla and Dimitri searched, the footmen searched all night, and we made sure everyone in the Four Hundred currently in the city knows we’re looking for my sister. She can’t have gone far. There comes a point,” Charlton said “where you have to move forward instead of wasting time on ‘I should have’. You’re my wife and you needed me too.”

“I suppose you are correct.”

“Damn right I am.”

* * *

Ulla was waiting for them in the morning room, reading through the morning newspapers and making rapid notes. So was the daimyo, although he was not writing anything down. He did look irritated.

“Good. You’re up and dressed. It’s about time,” Ulla said before they’d got two steps past the door.

“Ulla,” Zachery said, gazing skywards in search of patience. “They are newlyweds or a reasonable approximation thereof.”

“We have to find Lannie as quickly as possible,” Ulla shot back. “Delays mean we’re more likely to find her body instead of her.”

“This is true, but I also have a demesne to run. As for you, Charlton, you have your corner of DelFino to take care of. Ulla has been filling me in.”

“Thanks, I hope,” Charlton said. “Ulla, my sister is not dead and if you say that again, I’ll start calling you a harpy again.”

“Is that the _Barsoom Bugle_?” Iolanthe asked and firmly pushed her cane against the side of Charlton’s foot. Amazingly, he closed his mouth on whatever additional insult he was going to add. “The reporter, Thiago Gunderson, was sure he’d get us in.”

“He succeeded. You and your groom fill an entire column in the newspaper, Iolanthe,” Zachery answered. “Along with a detailed, lurid, exciting, multi-faceted DelFino scandal. I had hoped to keep this information confined within the Four Hundred and not enliven breakfast tables across Mars with tawdry gossip about the family.”

“Zachery,” Charlton said. “If telling everyone on Mars gets me my sister back and keeps my dad in the gutter where he belongs, then I did the right thing by talking to that reporter.”

“Perhaps,” the daimyo said, although he did not look convinced. “Welcome to the family, Iolanthe. No dowry, I understand?”

“No, my lord,” Iolanthe said as Charlton helped her into a chair. “I am penniless and as you observed yesterday at the cathedral, my family is barking mad. I should fit right in with DelFino.”

Ulla snickered and Charlton grinned.

“Perhaps you will,” Zachery said. “Charlton, Ulla has provided me a detailed report of, I won’t say everything, but most of what occurred on your lands.”

Charlton sat down, poured himself and Iolanthe cups of tea, and said “I have plans for my estates. I did not discuss them with Walter.”

“Yes. Walter. What happened to my son?”

“I broke his nose when he insulted Iolanthe at the cathedral.”

“I see. And the rest of Walter’s injuries?”

“A stablehand was beating him up. Dimitri Orlov and I stepped in to rescue his sorry ass.”

“Why was that happening? Do you know?” Zachery asked in his silkiest voice.

“I do, but you’ll have to ask Walter,” Charlton said. “We made a deal back home and I won’t go back on my word. The stablehand, the livery stable staff and its owner were not at fault so don’t punish them.”

“I see. That kind of a problem.” Zachery sank his head into his hands for a moment.

“Walter —,” Ulla began.

“Not now, Ulla,” Zachery said, waving her silent. “I am not entirely ignorant about my only son’s behavior and mindset. Charlton, Walter was not complimentary about your performance in your corner of DelFino. Ulla was, as was your village headman and everyone else I received reports from.”

“You talked to my headman?” Charlton demanded. “Paco never said.”

“I ordered him not to. You will retain control of your estates.”

Charlton grinned. “Does this mean I can get some coin from the coffers to start rethatching cottages?”

“No. I need to see more improvement and prudent money management from you before I pour more coin out onto the sand. DelFino cannot spare it.”

“I suppose I should have expected that,” Charlton said, looking resigned.

He would have said more, but the morning room door opened and Walter staggered in, moving stiffly and painfully like an arthritic old man.

His face was not just swollen but multi-colored with bruises and adorned with bandages plastered across his nose. He was no longer the image of a DelFino prince, other than his carefully styled blond hair, vivid blue eyes and immaculate clothes.

Charlton leaped to his feet, livid.

“Wait, Charlton,” Walter said hoarsely, holding up both hands and staying safely near the open door. “I came to apologize to your lovely bride, Iolanthe. I deeply regret I was a rude ass to you, my lady. It was hardly the way a gentleman welcomes a charming lady to the family and I am ashamed those idiotic words left my mouth. Please accept my ardent apologies.” He bowed to Iolanthe, then fished a giftwrapped box from a pocket. “A wedding gift for you.”

“Thank you, Walter,” Iolanthe said. Walter was lying. She was sure of it. He had meant every unkind word in the cathedral.

“There better not be anything nasty in that box, or I’ll break your nose again,” Charlton said.

“Try to remember you are a DelFino, Charlton, not a low-caste thug,” Walter said. He walked around the table to Iolanthe and handed her the box, keeping her between him and Charlton.

“I got reasons and you know it. You chose that yellow ballgown for Lannie.” Charlton snarled. “What were you planning to do to my sister?”

“I like Lannie even if I don’t like you. I hoped to rescue her from a forced marriage,” Walter replied. “It didn’t look like anyone _else_ , including you, was doing anything to help _her_.” He glanced disapprovingly over at his father. “If the daimyo of Orlov hadn’t changed the schedule, I would have had a servant of my own waiting for Lannie at the chapel window with a change of clothes. She would have been safe.”

“Safe with you?!” Charlton roared.

“Yes!” Walter yelled back. “I swear it on my name.”

Charlton leaned threateningly over the table. “Safe for you or safe for my sister?”

“Enough!” Zachery shouted. “My agreeing to the marriage was a mistake. We move forward.”

“Yes, we should,” Ulla said, eying Walter with open distaste. “Let me remind you, Walter, I report to the daimyo too.”

“She does, Walter, and we will be discussing the discrepancies between your report, hers, and the reports of various villagers and servants in Charlton’s estates later today,” Zachery said coldly.

“You listen to peasants and villagers?” Walter asked, suddenly uneasy.

“I do.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of you, Walter,” Iolanthe said, trying to change the subject and sooth the waters. “A butter jade horse.” She held up the miniature carved horse, prancing across her hand like a real one.

“A tiny horse statue as a wedding gift?” Charlton said in disbelief. “What, that was the cheapest thing at the jewelers you could find in a hurry?”

“Shut up, Charlton. The horse statuette is a stand-in, a placeholder if you will, for a real mare for Iolanthe,” Walter shot back.

“Walter,” Iolanthe said as pleasantly as she could. Damn him. He wasn’t blind and here was another insult. “I am lame. I have never ridden a horse.”

“Because you’ve never had the right horse, my dear cousin-in-law,” Walter said urbanely. “I have a cousin in Keerkehgard, also lame. I spoke with Akins via skynet last night about your situation. He rides himself. He trains horses to meet more specialized needs such as your own. He’ll select a gentle filly, train her, and deliver her in person to your corner of DelFino and teach you how to ride.”

“Oh,” Iolanthe said, nonplussed and then elated as she understood what he was offering. Was it possible? Of all people, Walter was giving her something else she’d never thought she would have. A horse. The freedom to ride and explore. The chance to be part of the group instead of forever watching from the sidelines. “I don’t know what to say.”

Walter preened under her surprised joy and shot a smug glance at Charlton. “I knew no one _else_ would think of a horse for you, despite DelFinos being noted for our horsemanship. I did not wish for you to be excluded.”

“That is so generous of you, Walter,” Iolanthe said, staring in awe at the horse trotting on her palm and seeing herself on a horse trotting across a meadow under a sunny sky.

“Yeah,” Charlton said. “Generous. I still don’t trust you. That horse won’t throw my wife?”

“Gleesh, Charlton,” Walter said with open disdain. “There’s always a risk with a horse and you know it. My favorite gelding unseated me two years ago because I was clumsy and I broke two ribs. My cousin Akins knows exactly what’s at stake. He’ll chose and train the most risk-free horse he can find.”

“Charlton,” Iolanthe said gazing up at him. “I never dreamed I could ride a horse.” She stroked the horse in her palm, feeling the cool buttery jade and wondering how a real horse would feel; the sleek coat, the flowing mane, the muscle moving under its warm skin, a huge animal obediently taking her where she wanted to go.

He stared down into her luminous brown eyes and sat down next to her again. “Okay.” He pulled her hand into his own, the hand holding the jade horse. He ran a finger across its back, never taking his eyes off her face.

“Very nice of you, Walter,” Ulla said. “Despite Charlton breaking your nose.”

“Well, I did deserve it,” Walter said. “I was unpardonably rude.”

He smiled but Iolanthe recovered enough from the jade horse to watch his eyes when he answered. The smile never reached them. It was fake. Walter loathed Charlton and had ulterior motives. Her mind raced. Like beautiful women, handsome men had their weak spots.

“I know it doesn’t seem so at the moment, especially as painful as a broken nose must be, but Charlton may have done you a good turn, Walter,” Iolanthe said.

“What?”

“I wasn’t helping Walter,” Charlton said sullenly.

“But you may have,” Iolanthe protested, opening her eyes wide and fluttering her lashes. She gently set aside the jade horse and pressed her hand firmly down on Charlton’s strong hand, the hand that had defended her. “Walter, I have not seen you at your best but may I assume you were among the most handsome of the DelFino princes?”

“Yes,” Walter said slowly and resentfully. “I was. Not any more, thanks to your new husband. My nose will be permanently crooked.”

“You won’t be handsome anymore, Walter. You’ll be something so much better. You’ll be _interesting_.” Iolanthe beamed at Walter. “Dare I say even a touch dangerous? So exciting.”

Ulla had been listening and looking confused. The confusion cleared.

“I agree,” she said and winked at Iolanthe, turning her head so Walter couldn’t see it. “You were so handsome you were verging on pretty, Walter. A man should never be pretty. An air of danger is so much more virile and romantic, don’t you think?”

“Pretty’s a good word for Walter,” Charlton said dryly. Since when did Ulla care about romance? Iolanthe had said earlier how unpleasant she thought Walter was. He was missing something.

Walter opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again as he contemplated an entirely new image of himself in the wall mirror. “Dangerous? Romantic?”

Iolanthe made herself smile so widely her cheeks hurt. “Yes.” She turned to Charlton and gazed at him adoringly, but this expression wasn’t faked. She ran a finger across Charlton’s stubbled jawline, oblivious to the other people sitting around the table. “Pretty is boring.” She let her eagerness show and watched his eyes darken with lust. “A touch of danger is so much more thrilling.”

Zachery had been watching the byplay in bemusement. “We’ll see what your potential bride says, Walter. The Khan family just sent word that Naomi is anxious to meet you and will be arriving in Barsoom within the week. That should give time for the bruises and swelling to fade.”

“You’re marrying Naomi Khan?” Iolanthe asked.

“If we like each other,” Walter said. “It’s a good match for many reasons.”

“Indeed it is,” the daimyo of DelFino said proudly. “They came to us because they want the best. In exchange, we get access to the markets of the east, a good dowry, and a well-connected, wealthy, sane family.”

“Unlike me and Orlov, you mean. Well, I won’t argue,” Iolanthe said. She smiled as graciously and confidingly as she could at Walter. “I’ve met Naomi Khan and she is the most beautiful girl in Nourz, our quad, probably in our ninesquare. Your children, and I know you will be blessed with many, will be _gorgeous_.”

“I’ve never met Naomi Khan but I’ve heard of her,” Ulla added. “Iolanthe’s right. She is a stunner, probably even more lovely than auntie Constance was in her prime, and I know your children will be equally stunning.”

“Very kind of you both,” Zachery said. “However, you cannot guarantee children.”

“This is true,” Ulla said, praying Charlton would keep his mouth shut and not ask how she knew.

“You are correct, my lord,” Iolanthe said. She squeezed Charlton’s hand in warning, willing him to keep quiet and not ask why she was making such an unlikely prediction.

“I try,” Zachery said. “Walter, we have things to discuss. If you will excuse us?”

“Yes, sir, my lord,” Charlton said. Iolanthe and Ulla murmured their agreements. They remained silent as Zachery and a reluctant Walter left the room and kept quiet for a few more minutes.

Ulla got up and closed the door firmly.

“You met Naomi Khan? Is she as much of a harpy as everyone says she is?” she asked as she sprinted back to the table.

“I thought you said calling a woman a harpy is rude and disrespectful,” Charlton said.

“Not in this case,” Ulla replied. “Is she?”

“All my ancestors back to Madame Orlov, yes,” Iolanthe said. “Do you suppose she’s pregnant again and her family decided on a quickie wedding to get her off their hands?”

“I’d say yes, based on what Elise Choudhury has written me about her,” Ulla said.

“I don’t know her. I know Cressida Khan very well and she wrote to me about Naomi’s two babies being adopted within the family. They have no idea who the fathers were since Naomi won’t say.”

Ulla snickered. “Because she doesn’t know.”

Iolanthe giggled. “Too many suspects to choose from according to what Cressida told me.”

“Stop right now,” Charlton commanded. “First, what was that foolishness with Walter looking dangerous? What am I missing? And second, Naomi Khan has a reputation?”

“Walter hates you, my dear,” Iolanthe said. “I’ve only seen a little bit of him but it’s obvious.”

“He’d like to see you slaving in the Dirac mines or at least exiled from DelFino,” Ulla said. “He’d love to be handed your estates.”

“I needed to give him a reason to not want to destroy you for breaking his nose and marring his good looks. Now he has one,” Iolanthe said.

“Sure does,” Ulla agreed. “Walter’s vain. He would have figured out some way of harming you. Iolanthe’s suggestion might stop him.”

“Especially if Naomi Khan likes his new, dangerous look,” Iolanthe added.

“No worries there. He’s male. She’ll jump him before the door is fully closed,” Ulla said and snickered. “That’s what Elise writes.”

“Because it’s true!” Iolanthe said and dissolved into giggles. “That’s why her family keeps her closely chaperoned at all times these days. Her heels are so round it’s a wonder she can stand upright.”

“Wait. Naomi Khan’s already had two babies?” Charlton asked, trying to process the flood of gossip. “Two?”

“My yes,” Iolanthe said and Ulla nodded vigorously. “Adopted within the family, of course. The Khan family has to marry her off to someone who’s not heard the rumors about her behavior. This has to be why they’re not making a public splash of it, because otherwise I would have heard from Cressida. They don’t want anyone to spread gossip and put off potential grooms and their families.”

“Thus our very own Walter DelFino,” Ulla said with a wide, happy grin. “They’re made for each other. She’ll never be able to count his mistresses and he’ll never know who fathers his children.”

“Gleesh,” Charlton said, blinking.

“See? You don’t need to punish Walter,” Ulla said. “Naomi will do it for you.”

“Right. Since you know so much, Ulla,” Charlton said in exasperation, “why did Walter give Iolanthe a horse?”

“To give her something you can’t and show you up for the penniless, inconsiderate, worthless black sheep you are,” Ulla said. She omitted the word ‘moron’ but it hung in the air.

“To show off and to make you less suspicious of his motives, I’d say,” Iolanthe said. Ulla really needed to learn tact.

“Sounds like Walter, the devious bastard,” Charlton said. “I’m still gonna punish him for what he tried to do to my sister.”


	24. glass ornaments in china cabinets (only taken out to be dusted)

Charlton stoically searched Lannie’s luggage with Iolanthe and Ulla, unearthing Shondra Sakamoto’s last letter. Lannie must have fled to Shondra, since she hadn’t sought sanctuary with anyone else they had already contacted. There weren’t many other places she could go. Ulla had a fresh list of Four Hundred families to visit during the day, based on who arrived in town per the society pages in the newspapers, so she wasn’t going along on this trip.

“Shondra won’t talk to me anyway,” Ulla said with a shrug as they went their separate ways. “I’ll stop at the train station first, the trolley headquarters second, and then work my way down my list.”

“Thank you, Ulla,” Iolanthe said. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” Ulla replied and forced her hands to her sides to keep from gnawing on a raw fingernail. “I swore I would help Lannie succeed. She can’t succeed if she’s —” her voice trailed off at Charlton’s expression.

“I appreciate it, Ulla. I do,” Charlton said. “See if you can send a message to Ranaglia today. I don’t know how to work the skynet connection and Zachery won’t let me sign out a family phone.” He looked embarrassed and resentful.

“You don’t? Oh right. Your corner of DelFino doesn’t have one and your worthless father must have sold the phone assigned to your branch of the family,” Ulla said. “Tell me who to contact and I’ll get it done.”

Ulla, Iolanthe reflected, really needed to learn tact. She was so practical and competent yet she didn’t seem to grasp her effect on the people around her. Charlton looked sullen again, as he had not since he left the cathedral with her.

* * *

Iolanthe stared all around her at the streets of Barsoom. She was wearing her veil. She had taken it off, felt extremely awkward having the world see her bare face, then put it back on again. One dramatic change at a time and new streets in Barsoom were excitement enough that she didn’t want to add to her discomfort.

She was perched in an open carriage with a fanciful fringed roof, comfortable and well-sprung, next to Charlton. The sky overhead was overcast but fortunately the rain was holding off. Wherever Lannie was, she hadn’t gotten soaked. The air felt humid and sticky, making the slight breeze more welcome. She still needed a fan, borrowed from Ulla. Faithless, disloyal Nelly had stolen her own fan while ruining all her clothes. Oddly, Barsoom felt cooler than Orlov. Perhaps the way the streets had been arranged to trap and funnel the prevailing winds made the difference. The lavish plantings of street trees added cooling shade. Or because she was no longer trapped in Orlov.

Charlton had asked for and gotten a DelFino carriage and a driver. “I don’t want to waste time waiting around for trolleys and working out which line goes to where Shondra lives,” he had told the daimyo. Zachery had agreed, probably since it didn’t cost him anything. Zachery had also agreed to allow the footmen to continue searching the local streets and alleys around the cathedral and townhouse. Broke, hungry, and on foot, Lannie’s choices devolved to huddling in a doorway, Shondra, or one of her friends in the city.

“This is so exciting,” Iolanthe said. “An entirely different set of streets, parks, and shops. Oh! Is that the cathedral? I didn’t get a good look at it before.”

“Yeah. I thought we’d start here and see if anyone will admit to seeing Lannie. Or if she came back, begged for sanctuary, and spent the night inside. It’s possible because it’s that or a doorway.”

Unfortunately, no one on the cathedral staff admitted to seeing Lannie. Nor were there any signs of her having taken refuge inside the cathedral’s garden or toolshed.

The alley behind the cathedral, where Ulla had found the button, offered the chance of information. Providentially, two young women were loitering in the mouth of the alley. They were dressed in shockingly lowcut blouses displaying plenty of yellowy-green mottled skin. Their short skirts displayed plenty of leg.

Charlton eyed them for a long moment while they stared boldly back. “Wait inside the carriage,” he said and left Iolanthe to sit and watch.

“Excuse me?” Iolanthe asked of the empty air. “I have to wait?” She was quickly becoming used to participating instead of being left on the sidelines and it was irritating.

The coachman, James, twisted in his seat. “Got to agree with my lord Charlton, my lady. A lady like you shouldn’t be talking to the likes of them.”

“I see,” Iolanthe replied. Would Lannie have spoken to those two women? Would they speak to Charlton if Lannie had? She considered, for the first time, what Lannie might have said to strangers in her efforts to escape her father and the sot. Any story she told about DelFino or Orlov wouldn’t be complimentary. That could prove a distinct problem.

* * *

“No strangers around here, sir,” the hard-faced young woman said.

“No sir. Not seen no one we don’t know,” the other woman said. “Just our regulars.” She winked at him and shimmied, making the neckline of her blouse dip dangerously low, to the point of her breasts spilling out. “Wanna be one of my regulars?”

The other woman pulled her skirt up, showing her leg up to her thigh. “You look nice. I guarantee you’ll get a happy ending.”

“No thanks,” Charlton replied. “I just want my sister back. I’ll pay for information.” He gave each of the women his scribbled address and a few coins and climbed back into the carriage.

* * *

Iolanthe listened and watched closely from her vantage point in the carriage. She’d never seen anyone wear such a lowcut blouse, even lower than the daring Mrs. Pondicherry. The way that woman jiggled; practically falling out of her blouse. Oh. Oh dear. That was the reason Charlton left her in the carriage. Like Dimitri, he was overly concerned about her delicate sensibilities.

She waited impatiently for his return.

“Were those women prostitutes?” she asked, agog and fluttering her fan, as the coachman snapped the whip and the horses trotted off. “I’ve never seen one before.” She had swiftly decided that Mrs. Pondicherry, adventuress, was many rungs higher up the ladder as evidenced by not having to solicit on street corners. That didn’t explain how Mrs. Pondicherry got Mr. Pondicherry to pay her bills, since few husbands were blasé about their wives dallying with other men. Perhaps he didn’t know how she earned her jewelry.

“Yeah. They’re not selling vegetables.”

“A dreadful way to earn one’s bread,” Iolanthe commented, after a moment of thought. “I wonder if Nelly will end up selling herself.”

“She’ll get some money selling your jewelry but it won’t last. It’s whoring or scrubbing floors, so probably so.”

“Poor Lannie. She might be scrubbing floors. She doesn’t have any money at all. Except for the Pearls and she can’t spend them. How will she eat?”

Charlton frowned at the street. “Mil-rats are free. I’ve eaten them at the gym. But Lannie won’t know where to find them. I don’t know if she knows what they are.”

“I don’t know what they are. What an unattractive name. Like they’re made of pureed rat,” Iolanthe said.

Charlton chuckled. “That’s not a bad description. I don’t know what goes in them. They’re edible bricks the Martian government provides so no one goes hungry. Keeps the labor caste rioting to a minimum is what I was told. They’re healthy and they’ll keep you alive and after you’ve gnawed through a few of them, pureed rat sounds pretty good. Easier on your teeth.”

“Gracious,” Iolanthe said.

“They come in flavors,” Charlton continued. “In my experience, none of them taste much like what the label says, as though whoever makes them never tasted a parsnip or a side of beef and is working from a bad description. Some Olde Earthe idea most likely, to make us ready to be slaves.”

“That sounds correct, based on what I know,” she said. “What will we do when they return in force to seize control of Mars?”

“We’ll fight,” Charlton replied coldly. “We’ll kill as many of those greedy, parasite bastards as we can and make them pay for every square millimeter of ground with oceans of their blood.”

And they’ll scrape us from the surface of Mars in return and grind us into fertilizer, Iolanthe thought and closed her eyes in pain. They’ll hybridize and import new slaves to replace us. We mean less to Olde Earthe than silver-winged moths mean to us. But what else can we do? Either way, we lose.

“Papa and Uncle Ljubo say the same thing,” she said.

“Because they’re right.”

“Yes, I fear they are.” She paused and dug her nails into her palms. Their relationship was still so new and despite what he had promised, they were not officially wed. She had no legal claim on DelFino until they did.

“Charlton, I do not wish to be left behind in the carriage again. I want to participate in life. I am tired of being treated like a china ornament in a glass cabinet; taken out only when I need dusting.”

He went rigid, glaring straight ahead and she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. He would ignore her, because he didn’t want to hear what she wanted. She wished for a moment she hadn’t spoken, but he couldn’t read her mind and magically know how she felt.

“You don’t wish? You don’t wish? I don’t wish for you to prod me with your cane to get me to shut up, as though you think I’m going to say something stupid,” he replied.

She found herself staring straight ahead as well, their earlier closeness vanished. “I did not mean to imply that you were stupid. I was urging caution, as I do with Dimitri.”

“I am not your brother. Do not manipulate me. I’m trying to protect you, like I _didn’t_ protect my sister.” She could discern a world of guilt, rage and hurt in his tight voice, his clenched hands, and the tenseness in his posture.

“Oh. I had not considered that. Even so, I would like to be included, because people may speak to me. Those women might have been more willing to talk to me about Lannie because I am not a threat to anyone.”

He turned sharply. “And I am?”

She giggled, surprising him and herself. “You broke Walter’s nose and then almost broke the sot’s wrist. You are dangerous, when you choose to be. I can’t be dangerous to anyone.”

He grinned suddenly, his face lighting up as he twisted further in his seat to watch her. “Does being dangerous make me romantic and exciting?” He leaned in; his face close to her veiled one.

“You are to me,” she said softly.

“Then I won’t stop.” He leaned closer, his lips almost touching hers, separated only by embroidered peach gauze.

The coachman whistled sharply to the team and turned them off the street into a large livery stable’s open yard.

“We’re here.” Charlton said, pulling back with a jolt and a flash of disappointment. “Where Dimitri and I saved Walter’s sorry ass. I should have let that stablehand pound him into paste. He earned it.” He sighed with resignation, the flare of liveliness and charm gone. “And now I’m gonna grovel to the owner to get my sister back.”

The coachman dismounted from his seat, and let down the steps. Charlton descended the coach first and assisted Iolanthe out. As he lifted her down, she whispered “You do take me to the most remarkable places and I thank you for it.” He grinned back at her; his good humor momentarily restored.

* * *

Winnie swiftly counted the coins the risto gave her and tucked them down her dress into a hidden pocket.

“No mil-rats today,” she announced with a smile. “I like easy money.”

“You think that risto was DelFino like he claimed?”

“Dunno. Never met one, but I’m pretty sure that’s their sigil. Never saw a woman in a veil like that either. I don’t like it.”

“Do you think that girl what give us the dress is named ‘Lannie?’” Tevy asked.

“Could be. It’s not ‘Ulla.’ Tevy, I think maybe we need to relocate again. We don’t want to get caught in risto fights, specially DelFino and Orlov, the sods.”

“This is a good alley, Winnie,” Tevy protested. “Between the cathedral and the livery stable, we allus got business. Not like our previous place.”

“I know. That’s why we’ll hang at the other end for the next few weeks. Those fat priests can do with the walk.” Winnie gave her partner a look of deep concern. “I’m looking out for us. I don’t wanna see you in the infirmary again for a week cause of Orlov.”

Tevy shuddered. “Okay, Winnie, cept maybe we should go further away.”

“You could be right.” Winnie stared around the alley. “If those two come looking for that girl, others might too. Maybe Burroughs Park?”

“Ooh, it’s so pretty there,” Tevy gushed. “There’s swans to watch when we’re waiting on a client.”

“And if we don’t get many clients, we’ll come back here after a week or two,” Winnie decided. “Everything will have blown over by then and our regulars will be happy to have us back.”

* * *

The livery stable owner observed the DelFino carriage arrive in his stable yard from his office window. His stomach roiled. He recognized the team of horses, the carriage, and the coachman. DelFino maintained only a few horses and carriages in their Barsoom stable, hence the lucrative contract he held to supply them as needed. He knew their coachmen well, since they were the staff members of DelFino he normally dealt with. This one, James, would refuse to gossip about the doings of his betters. James was very aware of his status, loyal to DelFino, and would only discuss horses. He’d get no information about Walter or Charlton DelFino from James.

He did not recognize the fashionably dressed, veiled and lame young woman being helped down. The indifferently dressed thug assisting her, on the other hand, had an unpleasantly familiar air. Charlton ‘I get what I want’ DelFino. Even without the mud, he looked like he hung around alleys mugging pedestrians or beating up other bar patrons who looked at him funny. At least he wasn’t dragging along the blonde harpy and the Orlov risto, come to pester him again. Fen should be long gone by now, heading back north to whatever part of the Ennaretee he hailed from along with whatever street girl he’d picked up to take home with him.

Mr. Cardozo wondered if this smirking risto was here to inform him that DelFino was cancelling their contract and suing despite what he had stated the day before. He contemplated the ruin of his business; three generations of hard work and his own Astrid set to inherit as generation number four, and its loss because Walter DelFino felt entitled to enjoy any girl he wanted. He groaned and headed outside to the stable yard to face his fate.

* * *

Iolanthe wrinkled her nose as she looked around. The stable yard was busy yet orderly, the buildings well-maintained, the yard regularly raked from the looks of it, but it was difficult to keep up with a herd of horses in a dirt-floored area open to the weather. Straw only did so much. Would Lannie have even set foot in such a place? On the other hand, livery stables meant horses which meant speedy transportation.

Except these horses had to be paid for, using coin Lannie did not have. How could Lannie have vanished so cleanly without help? Who had paid for a horse? A dreadful alternative rose up. Maybe she was already dead, having met the wrong person in that reeking alley with the blind turn. But if so, where was her body? This was busy, crowded Barsoom. It wasn’t possible that people left bodies laying around and no one noticed. The Pearls, on the other hand, would vanish without a trace. They’d be broken up into thousands of individual, anonymous pearls and gems and sold, one by one. Only the largest of the Pearls could be identified and then only by Orlov’s own jeweler.

She was woolgathering again and gave herself a firm mental shake. Lannie had either gotten a horse somehow or she’d gotten a trolley ticket and Ulla was checking that possibility.

“Here comes the livery stable owner,” Charlton said. “He doesn’t look happy to see us.” To the coachman, he said, “See to the horses, James. This may take a while.”

“He looks miserable. Does this man have a name?” Iolanthe asked.

“No idea. Let’s find out.”

Charlton bowed courteously to the livery stable owner. “You know me, Charlton Ranaglia DelFino. My wife, Iolanthe Orlov DelFino. And you are?”

“Edwaldon Cardozo, my lord,” the livery stable owner replied. The risto was being polite, probably to twist the knife deeper.

“Mr. Cardozo, I informed my daimyo that you and your staff were not at fault when your stablehand beat up my cousin, Walter.”

Mr. Cardozo looked startled, then relieved. “Thank you, sir.”

“He earned it,” Charlton said. “If I’d known the circumstances, I would have let your stablehand finish working him over before stepping in. I need your help.”

“Hey! You Charlton DelFino?” an unfriendly voice called out.

Charlton turned to the street. Two very fashionably dressed men stood there, looking hostile.

“I am. Who are you?

“We’re Keerkehgard. Andreas and Harcourt. Walter’s first cousins,” the first man said. He raised his fists like an overeager bully although he was old enough to know better; he was many years older than Charlton.

“You got a beating coming for what you did to Walter,” the second, younger man added eagerly.

“Walter earned it and my wife and I got things to discuss with Mr. Cardozo so get lost,” Charlton said. “I don’t have time for you.”

“You’ll make time,” the second man said and darted into the livery stable yard, fists raised.

“Not again,” Mr. Cardozo moaned. Luckily, none of his crew were involved this time, just hotblooded risto fools.

“Oh! _Oh_! The heat!” Iolanthe cried out and swayed dramatically. “Charlton, I feel faint. Help!” She clutched at her bosom and panted noisily.

“What?” he gasped, turned, and scooped her up at once. “Iolanthe!”

The Keerkehgard cousins stopped in their tracks, looking uncertainly at each other. Fighting with Charlton DelFino was a matter of honor. However, a lady in distress might take precedence.

“Doesn’t matter,” the younger cousin blurted out. “He still broke Walter’s nose. Let’s get him.”

“What the hellation is wrong with you two,” Mr. Cardozo said firmly. “Gentlemen and I will assume that’s what you are although you aren’t acting like gentlemen, do not brawl in front of ladies who need medical assistance.”

“Problem, Master Charlton?” James the coachman came striding back from where he had been watering the horses. He carried his coach whip, making sure it was seen. Two of the stablehands arrived as well, looking threatening.

“Wait, Harcourt,” the older Keerkehgard cousin told the younger.

Iolanthe’s mind raced, thinking of what Mrs. Pondicherry would do in a similar situation. She pressed herself up against Charlton’s chest, trying to look wan and pale. She let her cane dangle from her limp left hand, where both could be clearly seen.

“You’re Keerkehgard?” she moaned. “I have a message for Abigail Keerkehgard.” She coughed theatrically and pressed her right hand to her fevered brow.

“We have to get you inside and out of the heat at once, my lady,” Mr. Cardozo said. “This way, please, my lord DelFino.”

“I’ll get you something to drink, my dear,” Charlton said. To the Keerkehgard cousins, he snarled, “Get the hell out of my way.”

Charlton followed Mr. Cardozo, carrying Iolanthe, to the livery stable office. The Keerkehgard cousins trailed after him, their righteous fury dissipating. James the coachman brought up the rear, along with one of the burlier stablehands, helping cool their emotions still further.

Inside the cool, dim office, Iolanthe let herself be seated and fussed over with fans, cooling glasses of iced water, and a plate of sweet biscuits offered by Mrs. Cardozo. When she judged enough time had passed for her recovery, she said, “I had the privilege of meeting Abigail Keerkehgard last night. Perhaps you two know her?” She smiled faintly, trying for the image of a woman struggling to overcome dire illness to make necessary polite conversation.

The older Keerkehgard cousin elbowed his younger brother to keep silent.

“Yes, ma’am, we do.”

“She was very gracious. We spoke about our canes. I’m lame, you see,” Iolanthe said and coughed again showily. Charlton was at once at her side with a fresh glass of iced water.

“Do forgive me. The heat can be so debilitating.” She fanned herself rapidly. “Please tell Lady Abigail I will write this evening to papa in Orlov and have him mail one of my canes to her. She liked mine and I thought she might like to have one as an example for Keerkehgard’s own craftsmen.” Iolanthe smiled winningly. “Should I have papa send it to Keerkehgard’s townhouse in Barsoom or to your demesne? I don’t want to make Lady Abigail wait. A good cane can be so helpful.”

“Does she know that your —” Andreas glared at Charlton “— supposed husband beat up Walter?”

“She most certainly does. I told her. Walter insulted me in the cathedral and Charlton broke his nose for his rudeness.” Iolanthe squeezed his hand and gave him an adoring look complete with fluttering eyelashes, followed by a sip of water. It was flavored with wintenberries and was most refreshing. He winked at her.

“Walter didn’t say anything about that,” the older cousin said slowly. He looked unconvinced.

“Well, that sodding ponce wouldn’t. He’s trying to put the blame on me because he’s ashamed of himself,” Charlton said. “I won’t repeat what he said. If you have to know, you can ask any of the priests at the cathedral. Or you can read the papers. It’s in all the gossip columns.”

He smirked and held up a fist. “If you still insist on meeting me, we’ll do it in the ring at the gym. I’ll make time for both of you.” He observed their grinning faces and showed his teeth. “I box regularly. I like it. Some people think I’m good. I don’t hold back so make sure you want what I can dish out before you step into the ring with me.”

Their expression did not change, which was interesting. If anything, they looked more contemptuous.

“Mr. Cardozo,” Iolanthe said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Thank you so much for your assistance. I feel so much better, getting out of the heat.”

“I appreciate it too. I won’t forget,” Charlton said. He focused on the livery stable owner, openly dismissing the Keerkehgard cousins as nonentities. “I’m looking for my sister, Lannie. I know you spoke with my cousin, Ulla DelFino, and my brother-in-law, Dimitri Orlov. Have you seen anything? We’re not sure anymore what Lannie was wearing.” Charlton went on to give a description of his sister and the button in the alley leading to the livery stable.

When he finished, Iolanthe said, “She was distraught and had been crying for days, it looked like. We’re desperate to find Lannie.”

Charlton sighed gustily. “I have no idea where she went. We’re hoping you or one of your staff might have seen her.”

Mr. Cardozo sat back, chewed on a thumbnail, and thought hard. Fen had left for the Ennaretee with a girl. But that girl couldn’t have been the girl this risto was looking for. A refined young lady of the Four Hundred, no matter how upset she was, wouldn’t ask for help at a livery stable from a shaggy savage like Fen. She would have to be simpleminded to ask and simpleminded young women of the Four Hundred were never allowed to leave their homes. Fen’s girl was some lucky street girl, swept off to a new and better life in the Ennaretee, so there was no point in mentioning her and offering false hope.

“We didn’t see no one like that,” he said. “I’ll have my crew keep an eye out for her, but sir, I got to be blunt. Your sister, if she’s alive, most likely ran to family or friends. That’s where she’ll be.”

Thunder rose in Charlton’s face. “What do you mean ‘if she’s alive’.”

Mr. Cardozo pushed himself back in his chair at Charlton’s expression. He steeled himself and said “I’m being honest, my lord DelFino. Girls what don’t know how to take care of themselves don’t fare well in the streets of Barsoom. There’s predators, the two-legged kind, who prey on them. Your sister is most likely with friends. If she’s not there, you may not find her. Not alive. I’m sorry.”

A long, painful silence filled the room, a heavy fog of grief.

“I won’t believe that,” Charlton said, his voice thick. “I can’t.” He looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

“We’ll find her, my dear,” Iolanthe said.

“At Shondra’s. She has to have gone to Shondra’s,” he answered mechanically.

“I swear, my lord DelFino,” Mr. Cardozo said. “We’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thank you,” Charlton said through tight lips. “I will do my best by you and yours. I’ll remind the daimyo again that you and your staff bear no blame for what happened to Walter.”

“What did happen to Walter?” the older Keerkehgard cousin asked.

Mr. Cardozo looked stormy but remained silent.

Charlton curled his lip with contempt. “You two wastes of space are still here? I only broke Walter’s nose. You’ll have to ask your cousin why he earned his beating, and he did earn it, lying sod that he is. I swore I wouldn’t tell and I keep my word. By the way, Walter swore on his full name that no harm would come to Mr. Cardozo here, his staff, his family, or his business, and he did it in front of witnesses. Keep that in mind when Walter carps and whines and claims he was misunderstood.”

The Keerkehgard cousins exchanged glances. “We’ll do that,” Andreas said. “In the meantime, we’ll meet you, your choice of place and time. My card, sir.”

Charlton rolled his eyes but he took the card. “We don’t do that stupidness in the Hot Zone. But since you want me to beat you to a pulp in a ring with a crowd of witnesses, I will. Remember this though.” He smacked his fist into his other palm. “You asked for it, Walter doesn’t deserve your faith, and finding my sister takes precedence.”

Andreas smirked. “You will discover that you overrate yourself.”

“Why is your sister missing?” Harcourt asked. “Couldn’t stand being related to a blubbery slob like you?”

“I am really going to enjoy pounding you into paste,” Charlton growled. “Read a newspaper and you’ll get the whole story.”

“Forgive my brother. Harcourt likes to speak unpleasant truths that other people prefer to avoid,” Andreas Keerkehgard said and patted his younger brother fondly on the back. “Good luck finding your sister. My lady Iolanthe, I will pass on your message to Lady Abigail. Have your father mail the cane to Keerkehgard. As for you, DelFino, we’ll meet again and you will learn that Keerkehgard defends its own.”

They bowed to Iolanthe, ignored Charlton and Mr. Cardozo, and left.

“Hotblooded idiots,” Iolanthe said as soon as the door closed. “You will invite me to the gym when you meet them, I hope?”

Charlton looked astonished, then smiled. “We’ll see. I could lose and I don’t want you to see me lose.”

“I watched you punch Walter and then easily handle the sot. You also outweigh them, so I do not expect that outcome,” Iolanthe said. “If I understand correctly, based on what Dimitri told me, boxers need to be matched in weight as well as skill for a fair outcome.”

“That they do. We need to go. Shondra is next.”

“Good luck, sir,” Mr. Cardozo said. “Me and mine will pray for your sister’s safety.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cardozo,” Charlton said.

* * *

“Nicely done,” Charlton said. “And here you claim you’re not dangerous.”

They were back in the carriage, heading across Barsoom to where Shondra Chee Sakamoto lived.

“I’m not,” Iolanthe said. “I thought a fight with those two idiots would only slow us down. They can wait. Lannie cannot.”

“You are dangerous, my dear,” Charlton said proudly. “A non-dangerous person would have sat on their ass.”

Iolanthe flushed with pleasure. “So you didn’t mind my manipulation?”

“No. I’m fine with you manipulating other people when it’s to my benefit,” he answered. “Just don’t do it to me. Let me fail. I can take it. I’m a big boy.”

She giggled and squeezed his hand. “Yes, you are.”

Charlton looked pleased, a flash of humor and charm returning for a moment. Then his expression changed. James, the coachman, had turned down another street into a new district in the city.

“James,” he asked. “Are we going the right way?”

Iolanthe stared around her, paying attention again to her whereabouts. The street had narrowed and gotten much dirtier, the buildings were becoming rundown, the people on the cracked sidewalks shabbier. She found herself edging closer to Charlton.

“Yes, sir,” James answered. “Mrs. Sakamoto lives in a bad neighborhood. I would have counseled against bringing my lady Iolanthe if we weren’t doing this during the day.”

“I thought my boxing gym was in a shabby neighborhood,” Charlton commented. “Guess I was wrong.”

“Who is Shondra Sakamoto? I know of Sakamoto, of course, but little about the family and the demesne, and nothing about Shondra other than what you and Ulla told me,” Iolanthe said. “I find it hard to believe that any member of their family would be living in this sort of squalor.” She glanced all around again. “I’ve been told they’re stunningly wealthy.”

“She’s not a member of the family anymore,” Charlton said. “Shondra doesn’t like me any more than she likes Ulla. She married in. She and Lannie hit it off the minute they met and they write each other all the time, even though Shondra’s almost ten years older. Lannie said she divorced Lunt Sakamoto and because he was so awful, the family let her go with their kids and a small settlement.”

“Oh, my gracious,” Iolanthe said, her hand to her mouth. “He must have been _dreadful_ and she must have had proof that would stand up in court. The Four Hundred never lets its children go. She’s not a member of the Four Hundred then? I mean, I would expect any lady of the aristocracy to repatriate to her own family’s demesne.”

“She’s not. Her family breeds dogs for a living.”

“You can do that? Not breed dogs, I mean, but earn a living from it?”

“Apparently, at least enough to keep you from eating mil-rats. Shondra’s very good-looking so I assume her face was her dowry. I don’t see how a dog could be a dowry.”

“Mm. Yes. But why did Lunt Sakamoto marry her? No matter how pretty she is or was, a pretty face doesn’t compensate for a low-caste background, zero connections, _and_ poverty. I would have expected his family to deny the marriage and he would keep her as a mistress.”

“I don’t know,” Charlton admitted. “According to Lannie, Lunt married her and Shondra gave him two little girls and then she divorced him and fled to Barsoom.”

“Not to her family?”

“I don’t think so. Probably part of the settlement,” Charlton said. “No contact with anyone. That would explain why she’s not living in Pratch. I think she’s from there.”

“Dreadful,” Iolanthe stated. She looked around again, noticing the shabby tenements interspersed with small, tired factory buildings. “To be forced away from her family. She must have been desperate.”

“Yeah. Like Lannie.”

“We’ll find her,” Iolanthe said consolingly, although she couldn’t figure out how on Mars Lannie would have gotten from the alley at the cathedral to this dismal place without a map, a native guide, and an armed guard. She would have hiked for hours if on foot. They passed a trolley stop but trolleys demanded coin for tickets, not sob stories.

“Are those prostitutes?” she asked, discreetly pointing with her chin at a cluster of loitering women wearing far too little clothing and far too much cosmetics.

“Yeah,” Charlton answered after a moment of study. “I don’t think they’re doing as well as the pair I spoke to in that alley.”

Iolanthe thought of faithless, disloyal Nelly and felt a surge of hope that she ended up on a similar street of despair. It was petty, she knew it, but she didn’t care. Mama’s jewelry, lost forever, because Nelly didn’t want to be a maid in DelFino, even though she could have married eventually and gotten a cottage and a family of her own. Losing mama’s jewelry hurt far more than having her garments defaced and ruined to steal fake pearls. It hurt as much as realizing how Nelly had lied and used her to escape Orlov.

A few increasingly rundown blocks later, James reined in the horses. “This is the place,” he announced.

The building was low and small, with a rickety wooden fence surrounding a small, beaten-down yard. Even among the other buildings, this one looked decrepit. The area had once been, Iolanthe surmised, a better neighborhood since the buildings were small and individual, rather than the ubiquitous six-story red sandstone tenements she had seen elsewhere during their journey across Barsoom.

“James,” Charlton said. “Stay with the horses.”

“Already planning on it, sir,” the coachman replied.

“Shall we, my dear?” Charlton asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Iolanthe said. “I never dreamed I would travel so much. So educational and exciting.”

“I try,” Charlton replied.

The splintery gate was closed and he opened it. A moment later, Charlton and Iolanthe found out why Shondra Sakamoto rented a tumbledown shack in a seedy neighborhood. The shack wasn’t the attraction. She needed the fence.


	25. promises made (risking to be broken)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Swear on your name you won’t harm me or mine.”

Ulla spent the first half of a frustrating morning dealing with minor functionaries at the train station. The second half of her morning, at the trolley station headquarters, was even more irritating. She knew, _knew_ she was missing something important, but she couldn’t work out what it was. She had spent her entire life being accused of lacking imagination. That had not bothered her previously, because she hadn’t needed one. Trying to think like Lannie showed how wrong she had been.

It wasn’t that Lannie was irrational or crazy. It was that Lannie just didn’t think the way she herself did and, despite weeks of enforced togetherness, Ulla couldn’t guess what her cousin would do in her desperation. She should have come home by now; Lannie could read and every newspaper in the city had joyfully printed the story of Albion’s perfidious behavior. Nothing else made practical sense, yet Lannie hadn’t been practical or sensible.

No one she spoke to admitted seeing Lannie, despite her promises of rewards, the DelFino name, and liberal sprinkling of coin. More surprisingly, many of the train station and trolley employees she spoke to didn’t read newspapers and so the entire DelFino/Orlov fiasco came as news to them.

Perhaps Lannie hadn’t seen a newspaper either and still didn’t realize it was safe to come home. But then, where was she? Penniless, hungry, and huddled in some doorway was fast becoming the most hopeful answer.

Ulla considered again — chewing another fingernail to the bloody quick — persuading Dimitri to use the Pearls of Orlov as a reward. They’d find Lannie fast with the lure of real pearls, that luminous gift from Olde Earthe’s oceans. Could she talk him into it? Probably not. What little she’d seen of the Orlov family demonstrated they were completely irrational when it came to pearls.

By the middle of the day, exhausted and frustrated, she had yet to start on her list of Four Hundred residents in town, as per the morning’s society listings. At least most of those people, she reflected, did read newspaper gossip columns if only to keep up with their peers in the aristocracy. That meant, along with the gossip currently racing around Barsoom at top speed, everyone who was anyone should already know what Albion had done and how Lannie had vanished in response. Heavens forbid the aristocracy read newspapers for actual news. However, that also meant she could safely take a break at the townhouse, eat, call Ranaglia on skynet to be on the lookout for their wayward relative, and collect more coin to use as bribes and memory enhancers. If Lannie had taken refuge with a Four Hundred family, she’d be safe and someone would tell her the entire story.

It was a good thing, Ulla thought, looking at her empty purse, that she normally never spent any of her allowance from DelFino. All that coin had accumulated, giving her plenty of maneuvering room. She’d never realized how many people needed bribes as a memory aid.

“Lesten,” she said to her usual coachman. “Home, please. I need to eat and I’m sure you do as well.”

“Thank you, Miss Ulla,” Lesten answered. “Back out again afterwards?”

“Yes,” Ulla said. “I have a long list. Will we need to swap out horses?”

“No, this team is fresh from the livery stable so they’ll be good for the day, Miss Ulla,” the coachman replied. Today was proving to be a much more sedate driving day than the previous day’s mad dashing around. _Those_ horses needed recovery time. He, along with the DelFino footmen and grooms, was starting to think Miss Yilanda was gone for good. A young lady of the Four Hundred wouldn’t last long on the streets of Barsoom on her own. Other than Miss Ulla, of course. _She_ could manage because no one would dare cross her.

Once back at the townhouse, Ulla grimly made her way to the dining room, hoping to find it empty so she didn’t have to reveal her failure.

Unfortunately, the daimyo and DelFino’s matchmaker were waiting for her. Tightlipped, Zachery gestured her to a chair, not letting her escape to her bedchamber for a peaceful lunch on a tray.

Ulla curtsied and said “My lord Zachery. Auntie Ottilie, how nice to see you. Did you just arrive?”

“Yes, I did, Ulla. Pay attention. I’m still wearing my traveling clothes so why would you think differently?”

“My apologies, auntie,” Ulla said and forced her hands to her sides.

“Zachery told me you canceled meeting the young men I had arranged for, both today’s and tomorrow’s batch.”

“Yes, auntie Ottilie, I did,” Ulla said and shot a frown at the daimyo. “Finding Lannie takes precedence.”

“Your family feeling does you credit, Ulla, but you need to stop wasting time on any member of _that_ branch of the family. Albion embarrassed the family so much that no one decent will ever marry Yilanda, assuming she’s still alive, and obviously, if she is alive, she’s damaged goods,” Ottilie said coldly. “As for Charlton, I could have arranged for a merchant’s daughter with a small dowry instead of some penniless, crippled castoff from Orlov. You should have stopped him from telling everyone on Mars he’s married to that useless girl. He has to marry that girl officially now, or be shamed across the Four Hundred, dragging the DelFino name further into the mud. I am very disappointed in you.”

Ulla forced her hands to her sides, digging her nails into her flanks. It was a wonder she hadn’t started shredding the fabric. “I like Iolanthe. I think they will be happy together. Don’t you think that matters?”

“That cripple has no dowry and her family discarded her. No.”

“Enough, Ottilie,” Zachery said. “If you were concerned about marriages within that particular branch of the family, you should have said something to me about Albion’s plans and you did not.”

“You didn’t bother asking me. Would you have listened if I had bothered you with my unsolicited advice?” Ottilie demanded.

“I always listen, Ottilie, and you know it,” the daimyo said. “I cannot guarantee that I will accept your advice. The needs of the demesne are foremost in my mind and you, like much of the family, do not always comprehend the bigger picture.”

Aunt Ottilie pursed her lips and gave the table a look that should have stripped the varnish off the bamboo. “So you say,” was all she said.

“Is there anything else?” Ulla asked. “I need to speak with Ranaglia about Lannie.”

“There is, Ulla. I am so glad you asked.” Auntie Ottilie smiled without any humor or warmth. “I have come to Barsoom to see for myself why you cannot find a single young man to accept you and why when you do, you reject him.”

“I have no imagination, no sense of humor, and an overpoweringly strong sense of duty,” Ulla recited. “Those could be the reasons.” Several of the young men who had rejected her had used those exact words. Other young men had called her a boring, bossy harpy, but she didn’t feel duty-bound to share that little witticism with auntie Ottilie.

“Are you sure you have no sense of humor, my dear?” Zachery asked. “I sometimes observe one peeking out.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“Don’t be absurd, Zachery,” Ottilie said. “Despite what they claim, no one cares about a sense of humor when connections and money are at stake. Ulla is well-dowered, attractive, capable, intelligent, and hardworking. She is a DelFino. She has all the credentials needed for an outstanding match, other than her own pickiness and of course, her regrettable mother’s indecent behavior.”

Ulla tightened her mouth, forcing her angry response back and down.

“Unkind, Ottilie,” Zachery said coldly. “And unproductive. We all know you and Ulla’s mother did not get along. That unhappy history does not allow you to be rude. That said, get to the point of your visit and stop harassing Ulla.”

“Even so —,” Ottilie began.

“You can be replaced. There are candidates.”

Ottilie went still, then forced a reptilian smile onto her thin lips. She enjoyed the power she held within DelFino, everyone knew it, and if she lost her position as matchmaker, she would find few friends within the family. Her husband was dead, her daughters had married out (extremely well it must be said just as it must be said they rarely returned to DelFino, bringing their children to visit their grandmother), and she had borne no son for DelFino. She could always repatriate to Avongale but that would be a major step down in status; from first tier to fourth or less, and worse, she’d be an unwanted, forgotten widow scraping by on pennies. She’d recover but it would take years.

“Well, I suppose I must make allowances for your concern over your cousin, Ulla,” Ottilie said. “You have been working hard to bring Yilanda up to DelFino standards.”

“I was succeeding, too. Lannie worked hard,” Ulla said. “So did Charlton.”

“Good. In that case, I will allow you to postpone some scheduled meetings. This evening, however, the daimyo insists you meet two well-placed, high-status, charming young men from Keerkehgard for dinner. Andreas and Harcourt. They’re brothers as well as being Walter’s first cousins on his mother’s side.”

How efficient, Ulla thought and couldn’t repress a moue of distaste. I can be rejected by two well-placed, high-status, charming young men at once, thus saving time all around. Walter’s cousins! Gods alone knew what he had told them about her. At least they weren’t third-stringers she’d have to reject, giving Ottilie more to carp about.

“I want closer ties with Keerkehgard, Ulla,” Zachery said. “My own dear wife came from there, you know.”

“Yes, my lord,” Ulla said dutifully. And what a successful marriage that was: when in public Zachery and his wife were stiff, formal, and as warm as two bowls of sherbet with clashing flavors and colors.

“Keerkehgard’s daimyo has been working extensively with new techniques in forestry. They have been very successful. I want that knowledge for DelFino, Ulla, and I don’t want to wait another few decades.”

“Yes, sir,” Ulla said. She could talk about trees with total strangers. They performed useful functions and produced useful products. It was a better topic of conversation than the baffling esthetics of cloud formations because what did clouds matter if you weren’t forecasting the weather? A thought struck her.

“I’m to meet a pair of Walter’s cousins? That seems awkward. Do I get to choose which one I like? How do I decide which one to talk to without offending the other? Usually, I meet one gentleman at a time over dinner. Otherwise, we meet in groups at parties.” Where I can hide in the crowd.

“My reports indicate you haven’t been doing well at parties, Ulla,” Ottilie said with a prim smile that never reached her eyes. “Your social skills need too much work.”

“But both of them at once? Brothers?” What would they say to each other, once she was out of earshot? What would they say to each other in front of her. Gleesh. Her mind boggled.

“They’re only in town for a few days. Zachery and I went over my lists of eligibles upon my arrival, while you were frivolously gallivanting around Barsoom. He demanded you meet his nephews, Andreas and Harcourt, first.” Ottilie cast an icy sideways glance at Zachery and pursed her lips disapprovingly.

“Yes, my lord, ma’am,” Ulla said dismally. “Is my afternoon still free?” Inspiration struck and she forced out a smile, hoping it looked more authentic than Aunt Ottilie’s own effort. “I plan on visiting people who are in town. Get to know some of my peers better.”

“Very good, Ulla,” Ottilie said. “Don’t be rude, smile prettily and from the heart, confine your conversation to platitudes instead of what other people are doing wrong, and you might succeed.”

“Yes, auntie Ottilie,” Ulla said. “I’ll use you as a role model.”

“An excellent plan, sure to be successful,” Zachery said, looking amused.

Auntie Ottilie preened complacently and Ulla fled for the sanctuary of her bedchamber and a solitary lunch on a tray.

* * *

Dimitri did something he rarely did, especially when in Barsoom. He got up early, made arrangements with the kitchen for breakfast on a tray in the office instead of the usual lavish spread in the morning room, and called Orlov Castle via the skynet connection. As he hoped and Matsuda confirmed, the sot had returned very, very late and was still sleeping off his evening’s drunken revels. Their unwanted houseguest, Albion, was likewise snoring away. An opened and carefully enhanced bottle of wine had been mysteriously left in his bedchamber the evening before, ensuring his slumber. Dimitri’s privacy was ensured, behind a locked door and sound-deadening drapes.

As he had prayed, both papa and Uncle Ljubo were already up, so he did not have to squander time and fret over the sot remaining cooperative and asleep. Unexpectedly, Morley, the steward, was summoned for the conference. The four of them had a lengthy, tense conversation about the sot and the vanished Pearls and what to do next. As Dimitri had expected, the daimyo had not admitted his foolishness to his closest advisors.

“Keep him in Barsoom, Dimitri,” his father said when they were finished. “He will do less damage to the demesne. In the meantime, we will see what the three of us can do to seize control.”

“This stupidity will destroy the sot’s remaining goodwill and authority within the family. He can no longer hide behind tradition and Madame Orlov’s skirts. We will start with an inventory of the remaining Pearls, comparing them to the list your sister gave you of what she observed in the cathedral,” Morley said. “Then, all our other assets. We must assume the Pearls have permanently vanished.”

“Watch what he does, both him and that worthless ham, never letting them out of your sight,” Uncle Ljubo said. “Do not return home. Tell the sot we are watching. Keep us up-to-date.”

“Trust Matsuda,” his father said before signing off. “No one else in Barsoom. And next time you make plans, my son, confer with Iolanthe first.”

* * *

Mrs. Cardozo stirred herself from her seat in the back of the office. She had kept silent during the conversation, other than to fetch iced water and sweet biscuits and study Iolanthe DelFino’s performance with admiration. There was a girl who knew how to think on her feet.

“You told me Chuck said our Fen rode off with some girl. Are you sure it wasn’t the DelFino girl?” she asked. “How do you know?”

Mr. Cardozo explained his reasons. His wife thought them over while he waited.

“Fen’s girl was sobbing, according to Chuck. If this DelFino girl was running away from a forced marriage, she’d be sobbing too,” she finally said. “I saw that story in the paper.”

“I know,” her husband answered. “But Fen’s girl was wearing a big man’s coverall, so Chuck said. Like she stole it cause there wasn’t nothing else to cover her nakedness and I can’t see some risto princess putting on a workman’s coverall if she was already wearing a fancy gown. She’d rather die. Besides which, you know Fen’s from the Ennaretee. You know what kind of reputation Steppes Riders got. He took full advantage of his time in Barsoom, exploring all over the city. Who’s to say he didn’t find himself a string of girls to enjoy while he was roaming about? His kind don’t fret over husbands so I could see some lonely girl enjoying a fling with him —”

“— even with all that hair,” his wife interjected with a snort.

“Yep, and then she got found out, there was trouble, and she ran off with Fen,” Mr. Cardozo concluded. “Or she could have been some street whore he met and she got tired of hiring herself out and her pimp didn’t like it, beating her up and taking her clothes. Fen wouldn’t care about her whoring, not if she’s willing to go north with him.”

“That makes sense,” Mrs. Cardozo said. “Don’t know if I’d trade Barsoom though, for some tent in the frozen north.” She shivered.

“He’ll keep her warm.”

“This is true,” Mrs. Cardozo conceded. “But you’re right, we don’t want to mention it to that risto. Fen saved our Astrid and he don’t need the trouble, we don’t need the trouble, and that risto’s sister must have already been picked up by someone bad. Best not to get Charlton DelFino’s hopes up and then trample them, specially since he’s trying to keep us from ruin.”

“You think she might be alive then?”

“No question. Pretty girls always got something to sell, even if they don’t get to keep the coin for themselves,” Mrs. Cardozo replied with a shrug. “She’s worth keeping alive to whoever found her. If she’s lucky, she’s chained in some crib in the rookery. If she’s not, slavers got her. Either way, she’s never coming home.”

* * *

Iolanthe clung to Charlton, something she’d been doing a surprisingly large amount of but this was the first time she truly feared for her life. The sot would have beaten her badly, but he wouldn’t have torn her into bloody shreds and devoured them raw. The biggest dogs she’d ever seen had boiled out of the shack and charged them, snarling and yelping, the instant Charlton closed the gate behind them.

The monster dogs took about a second to race between the door and the gate in the fence, barking and snarling, and blocking their escape. Charlton did his best to keep between her and them, turning and turning to face the dogs, keeping her behind him. Amazingly, they did not attack although it took a few terrified, screaming seconds to realize they weren’t using their fangs or their huge paws, just their lungs.

“I’ll need your cane to beat them off,” he yelled over the barking and neighing. “James! Get over here!”

“Can’t leave the team, sir!” James called from over the fence. He was fully occupied trying to calm down the panicked, rearing horses without being trampled.

“Settle!” a voice screamed.

That distracted the dogs. They magically quieted down, still growling and pacing, alert for every movement. The noise level dropped, giving James a chance to regain control of the horses who did not calm down.

“I think Shondra has dogs,” Charlton said. “You okay?”

“I’m not sure,” Iolanthe squeaked. “I think my heart is going to leap out my throat onto the ground where a dog will eat it in front of me.” She couldn’t seem to breathe and her ears rang from the noise. She clutched Charlton’s tightly, grateful she wasn’t flat on the ground where she could be more easily savaged.

“Same here. Go to James, keeping between me and the dogs.”

“Master Charlton, I can’t leave the horses or they’ll bolt. I’ll help you at the gate, my lady. Get you safe in the carriage.”

“Move and I’ll set the dogs on you.”

“Got it,” Charlton said. “James, wait. Iolanthe? Keep behind me and do not move.”

“Yes, Charlton,” Iolanthe said and concentrated on breathing and observing carefully in case she needed to run (hah!) towards the fence and leap over the gate like a gazelle (double hah!) before savage dogs devoured her down to her toenails and then chewed up her cane like a chicken leg bone.

A too-thin, tired-looking woman marched towards them. She wore a ragged coverall and even through her fear and shock, Iolanthe could see she had been a beauty, once. Even as worn as she looked, she would have looked better if she had hair. So, that had to be Shondra Sakamoto.

Shondra stopped, keeping distance and a dog between them.

“Good girls,” she cooed to the dogs. “Good boys! Who’s my good doggies?”

As she calmed down, realizing she wasn’t going to be eaten that very moment, Iolanthe counted the dogs and realized that what had seemed to be dozens of the slavering beasts was only four. Huge dogs, but only four. Only!

“Yes, you are. Yes, you are. You are all my brave good doggies. Yes, you are, you wonderful, loyal brave doggies,” the woman said. “Mommy loves each and every one of you best of all, yes she does.”

“You baby-talk to monster dogs, Shondra? You might remember me —”

“I remember you, you worthless DelFino black sheep thug in training. What do you want?” the woman snapped.

Charlton stood his ground.

“First, I’d like your assurances that you won’t let your dogs rip my wife into bits and eat her, or my coachman and my horses. After that, I’m looking for Lannie. Is she here?”

“What? Why would Lannie be here?”

“I see we need to bring you up to date,” Iolanthe said, poking her head farther out from behind Charlton. She waved timidly, keeping a death grip on Charlton with her other arm. “I’m Iolanthe Orlov DelFino. You must be Shondra Sakamoto? It’s so nice to meet you.”

“I am her. Still haven’t learned how to make introducti0ns, huh Charlton?” Shondra said.

“I don’t like introducing my wife to someone who’s going to let her be eaten by vicious dogs,” Charlton said.

“My dogs are not vicious!”

“Could have fooled me.”

“My dear heart, if the dogs were vicious, I don’t think we’d be having this conversation,” Iolanthe said. “Mrs. Sakamoto, if you don’t mind, I need to sit down and preferably not on the ground as it’s difficult for me to get back up without assistance. So embarrassing. I’m lame, you see.”

“Wait a minute. I know who you are,” Shondra said. “You’re the Orlov harpy. You married this thug? You poor girl.”

“The Orlov harpy?” Iolanthe said.

Charlton groaned. “That was part of mine and Dimitri’s plan to keep everyone in the dark. I lied about you.”

“Did my brother know you were calling me a harpy?”

“No, I didn’t tell him that part.”

“I see.”

“Charlton also called you ‘lame, ugly, stupid, and penniless,’ according to Lannie’s letters,” Shondra added helpfully. “On numerous occasions.”

“I see,” Iolanthe said. “The lame and penniless parts are true, and I am —”

“Quit this right now, Iolanthe,” Charlton commanded. “I had to lie, you know why I had to lie, and you are not ugly and you for damn sure aren’t stupid.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?”

He turned and took her in his arms. “No. You have beautiful eyes and beautiful hair and you get more beautiful every day.” He whispered into her ear “and you have a beautiful body but I didn’t think you’d like me telling Shondra and James just how beautiful it is.” He winked. “But if you insist, I can go into detail, starting with your luscious tits.” He blew into her ear and nibbled on her earlobe.

She giggled and flushed as her bones liquefied and heart started racing again, for quite a different reason. “That won’t be necessary, I’m sure.”

“Ahem. I’d argue over the stupid part, myself,” Shondra interrupted. “You married Charlton DelFino which is the definition of stupid.”

Charlton turned back to glare at Shondra. “Do not insult my wife.”

“Stupid as opposed to being intelligent and marrying Lunt Sakamoto? We are getting off track, I think,” Iolanthe said. She leaned into Charlton, still breathing hard. “My leg and hips are starting to ache again and I really must sit down.”

Shondra stared at her for a long, long moment, observing the cane and the slight but observable twist in the Orlov harpy’s posture, as she clung, shaking, against both Charlton and her cane. She also noted the increasing grayness in Iolanthe’s complexion.

“Can we go inside, Shondra?” Charlton asked. “I would like to take care of my wife and discuss my sister. Lannie’s in serious trouble.”

Shondra paled, then firmed her mouth. “Swear on your name you won’t harm me or mine.”

“You got it. I, Charlton Ranaglia DelFino swear on my name that I will not harm you or yours and I will, to the best of my ability, keep others from harming you as well. You, Iolanthe, and James are my witnesses. Satisfied?”

“Yeah. For now. Pride! Come.” The biggest dog leaped to his feet and trotted over to Shondra, wagging his tail. His ivory fangs gleamed in his gaping red maw as he panted.

“Those are the biggest dogs I’ve ever seen,” Iolanthe whispered to Charlton. I suddenly see how her family makes a living. They must be excellent guard dogs.”

“Charlton,” Shondra said. “I’m going to have Pride stay with James.”

“The horses won’t like that, Mrs. Sakamoto,” James called from his side of the fence.

“They’re gonna have to.”

“Why?” Charlton asked.

“Because the neighbors get fashed if anything happens to our Shondra and Pride shows she likes her visitors,” a new, gravelly male voice answered. “Hi, Shondra. Got company?”

Charlton and Iolanthe turned to see a wiry older man leaning over the fence, on the other side of the gate from James. He wore a beat-up coverall and his yellow mottled skin proclaimed him as the lowest of castes.

“Yes, Junsu,” Shondra answered.

“This anything to do with that evil sack of shit ex-husband of yourn?”

“No, not this time, although I don’t like Charlton Ranaglia DelFino. I don’t know yet about Iolanthe Orlov DelFino.”

“Heard your oath, boy. I’ll remember, like I’ll remember your names,” Junsu said. “Hope you meant it.”

“I do,” Charlton said. “I won’t be forsworn.”

“My leg. I must sit down,” Iolanthe moaned. Her mouth was tight with pain. She dug her right hand’s fingers into Charlton’s arm and clutched her cane in a death grip with her twisted left hand.

“We’ll get you into the house,” Charlton said and scooped her up again.

“I am so sorry,” Iolanthe murmured. “Stress makes it worse.” Her forehead beaded with sweat making her veil stick to her face and her complexion was becoming increasingly gray, even through the gauze.

“Showing off your muscles like the labor castes who are actual contributing members of society, Charlton?” Shondra sniped.

“This is why Shondra and Lannie get along so well,” Charlton told Iolanthe. “Harpies of a feather flock together.”

“That is not helpful,” Iolanthe said tightly.

“Shondra? Me and Pride will stay with the coachman,” Junsu said.

“Thank you, Junsu. Charlton, this way please.”

“James? We’ll be fine.”

“I hope so, my lord,” James said. “Know anything about horses, Junsu, other than cleaning up behind them? They’d like some water and a rubdown and keep that damn dog away or we’ll be chasing them for the rest of the day. I’ll get close, while you keep away from their hooves and teeth.”

* * *

Iolanthe focused on her hip and leg, practicing the circular breathing and meditation techniques Auntie Bettina and the acupuncturist in Nourz insisted would help manage pain. It never worked as well as they claimed, but it was better than nothing. All she could think about was sitting down, even if it meant being eaten by monster dogs afterwards. Being ripped apart by slavering fangs and then devoured would be messy, but distracting as well as being less humiliatingly weak. An award-winning athlete couldn’t outrun those beasts so no one would expect her to do better.

“Hey, hey, we’re here. I’m going to set you down, love,” Charlton said and she braced herself for a chair. He was very gentle, having already learned not to jar her hip and spine any more than he had to.

Shondra watched Charlton’s tender concern over the Orlov harpy and reevaluated him. He didn’t look like he was acting. This seemed natural. She’d learned, to her cost, that there were very, very skillful liars who could make you believe whatever they wanted. The Orlov harpy didn’t look like she was acting either. She could be faking her limp, but the way she was sweating looked natural; brought on by true pain. Her fancy cane also looked like it was used regularly as an aid to walking; it wasn’t a prop from a costume shop nor did it show signs of being used to punish someone. Her twisted left hand was real too. While Charlton fussed over Iolanthe, she risked speaking quietly to her daughters, warning them to keep silent and hidden.

There was never a reason to take a chance when her ex-husband might be involved, unlikely as it seemed. DelFino had little contact with Sakamoto and as far as she knew, Charlton DelFino had exactly zero to do with Sakamoto. Lannie would have warned her.

“Water?” Shondra held out a chipped pottery cup.

“Thanks, Shondra,” Charlton said and took the cup without a single snide word about its cleanliness or the broken-off handle she was braced for.

Iolanthe took off her veil and sipped the water, deeply grateful to be sitting down in a chair that didn’t move and away from the pony-sized dogs. The day had been more taxing than she had expected. She was getting far more exercise than normal, along with worrying about Lannie and getting to know Charlton better.

She smiled up at him, observing the genuine concern on his face.

“I’ll be fine, thank you both.” Embarrassingly, her stomach chose that moment to growl.

“Damnation,” Charlton swore. “I’m sorry. I knew we should have stopped for lunch, but —”

“We needed to find Lannie first,” Iolanthe said, interrupting him.

They really were worried about Lannie, Shondra thought. What had happened? Lannie’s last letter said that she’d been unable to refuse the daimyo of Orlov and Charlton wasn’t helping her, other than to repeat ‘don’t worry’ endlessly.

“I have mil-rats,” Shondra found herself offering. Hospitality to guests, even unwanted ones, was sacred in her family. What you had, you shared. She wanted to swallow her tongue. Charlton DelFino and this Miss Orlov (despite what they were saying, she couldn’t be Charlton’s legal wife) wouldn’t eat a mil-rat. They were food for the lowest castes, suitable only to sneer at. They’d humiliate her for her poverty.

“Thanks, Shondra,” Charlton said as she got some bricks from the shelf. “Are they the raisin kind? Those are better than wintenberry which taste like dust and despair.”

“You’ve eaten mil-rats?” Shondra asked, taken aback. “When?”

He grinned at her. “At the gym. Where I box. Lannie didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“I’ll take one as well, Mrs. Sakamoto,” Iolanthe said. “I admit, I am curious.”

“Shondra will do just fine.”

“Then you must call me Iolanthe,” Iolanthe replied warmly. It was an enormous relief to sit down, quiet and out of the sun and with a wall between her and those slavering, man-eating beasts, and the breathing exercises were finally helping.

Shondra handed around the mil-rats. Charlton looked at the wrapper and made a face. “Yam flavored? Really? Nothing is cheaper or easier to grow, store, and cook than yams. They don’t have to be turned into mil-rats first.”

“And what would you know about growing yams?” she snapped.

“Plenty. It’s what my peasants grow the most because you get the best value from them. They’re good eating as they are too, so you don’t have to turn them into mil-rats. Gleesh.” Charlton unwrapped his, bit into it, and scowled. “Yup. Fresh is better.”

Iolanthe waded in. “May I try? I’ve never eaten a mil-rat or a yam.”

“They don’t grow them in Orlov?” Charlton asked, surprised. “Your climate is like ours. Hot Zone.”

“They do, but they’re, um, mainly for the serfs,” Iolanthe replied uncomfortably, glancing around at Shondra’s tiny, tidy, bare hovel.

The room was tidy, because there was nothing in it other than the table and three chairs and a counter for preparing food with open shelves underneath. Not even a curtain concealed their near emptiness. They only held a few stacks of wrapped mil-rats. Several large chipped water bowls were on the floor, the only other dishes in the room besides the cups they were using. A ragged curtain acted as a door to the next room. The hovel couldn’t be larger than two tiny rooms. That must be where Shondra slept, on a pile of straw with those dogs. She thought suddenly of the cottage that her former maid, Olga, must be living in. Olga had probably married her young man the same day she had married Charlton. Olga’s cottage would be better appointed than Shondra’s hovel; papa would see to it. She’d have to check. Olga deserved better for all her years of service than an empty shack like this one.

Iolanthe bit into the drab orange brick. It had a crunchy texture and she couldn’t be sure it tasted like a yam since she’d never eaten one before. But it was food and she was hungry and she wasn’t going to be rude so she nibbled around the edges, interspersed with sips of water to wash the taste out of her mouth.

“We eat yams all the time at home,” Charlton said. “They’re not serf food, they’re for everybody.”

“Get to the point. What happened to Lannie?” Shondra demanded. “You were going to force her to marry that vicious slob of a risto, the daimyo of Orlov, to pay off your worthless father’s debts.”

Charlton rolled his eyes. “And to pay for mama’s medical care too, don’t forget that.” He held up his hands and said, “Shondra, please. Shut up and listen. It was a mess.”

He plunged into the story, Iolanthe adding what she knew from her end.

As they spoke, Shondra’s eyes got wider and wider. She finally said, “Damnation. In addition to everything else, your father poisoned your mother?”

“Yeah. Ulla figured that one out. I’ve thought about it and I think dad was having an affair with Mistress Vaughn because why else would the village apothecary take such a risk, poisoning my mother?”

Shondra ran her fingers across her buzzed scalp. “He would cheat, that rotted ham. Why didn’t you tell Lannie your plans?”

“Gleesh, Shondra. You know Lannie. She can’t lie worth a damn. Do you think she could have kept a secret like this for months?”

Shondra looked away, out the tiny window, and sighed. “Probably not. She hates you for this.”

It was Charlton’s turn to look away in guilt and grief. “Yeah. I know. I couldn’t figure out anything better. I had to have the coin to save my peasants and mama and that meant Lannie had to suffer, until Dimitri and I kidnapped her back and robbed my dad.”

“Next time, have someone else help you with your plans,” Shondra said dryly. “Someone like your new bride here. Or, Gods save me for recommending her, Ulla.” She shuddered and grimaced.

“I know. Is my sister here? Please tell me Lannie came straight to you,” Charlton pleaded. “She’s not hiding with any of her other friends in Barsoom, we checked and Ulla’s checking again now. All the newspapers have stories about my dad’s attempted murder of mama and his banishment so no one would be afraid of pissing off DelFino by giving Lannie sanctuary.”

Shondra stared at her hands, then said, “She’s not here. I moved in only a few weeks ago so it’s possible she’s at my old place. It’s not far from here.”

“Oh Gods,” Charlton said despairingly.

“Charlton, you have to find Lannie,” Shondra prodded. “She won’t last long in the streets of Barsoom by herself. And how did you know I was here?”

“We searched Lannie’s luggage for your address,” Iolanthe replied. She stroked Charlton’s hand, watching his face. He was staring off at the wall, lost.

From the next room, behind the ragged curtain, someone sneezed.

Charlton leaped to his feet. “Then who the hell is in this house with you? Dogs don’t sneeze!”

Shondra ran for the curtain, blocking his way. “Get out of my house, you lying sack of shit! You’re here because of Lunt!”

“I want my sister back!” Charlton yelled back.

From outside the shack, the dogs started barking again and, more worrisomely, another dog growled low and long, from behind the curtain.

“Stop this screaming,” Iolanthe said as loudly as she could without screaming herself. “Screaming solves nothing. We need to be calm and not upset the dogs or the horses or the neighbors.”

She lurched to her feet with an open moan of pain, hoping to divert Charlton’s attention away from whomever was behind the ragged curtain.


	26. You deserve better than these sodding little ponces, Miss DelFino.

Lannie clung to Fen, her arms wrapped around him. He was dirty, scruffy, with a weird accent and hair longer than hers, yet he felt so strong and assured and capable. He hadn’t abandoned her at the thicket to those screaming workmen and soon, so he said, they’d stop and eat more of those food bricks. She was hungry enough to look forward to compressed stale raisins flavored with mold. Was that what a mil-rat was made from? It seemed unlikely. Yams were lots cheaper than raisins which was why they ate a lot of yams at home and raisins were reserved for holiday cakes.

Cake. Yesterday had been her birthday. If she’d been home, there would have been cake. And mama. Charlton. Ulla. Walter. Daddy. She flinched. She hadn’t been allowed to stay safe at home, because of daddy.

She was woolgathering; trying to avoid what she would do next and trying harder to not miss home even though she could never return. What if Fen asked her where she was going? She couldn’t go home and she couldn’t go to Shondra and any of her other friends would turn her over to DelFino at once, for the daimyo to decide her fate. Would Zachery care that daddy poisoned mama when access to the markets of the east were at stake? Or worse, any friend she went to for sanctuary would result in _their_ family handing her over to Rastislav Orlov so he could marry her, rape her, and beat her to death when she didn’t bear sons fast enough. No one wanted to disobey the wishes of the daimyo of DelFino and Orlov was probably almost as powerful.

And then there were the Pearls of Orlov. She wished now she’d left them behind. They were money, but they were trouble and a guarantee that Orlov, at least, would never stop looking for her. She could scatter them in the streets as they rode along on Coppertail and Orlov would still search for her because no one in their right mind would turn pearls in, hoping to find the rightful owners. She was on the hook, no matter what she did.

Her stomach growled; the sound fortunately hidden by the clanging trolley Coppertail was trotting by and the noisy street. Fen had said they were near the border of Barsoom but nothing looked different to her. The buildings were as tall, as crowded; the streets as busy as ever.

Where could she go? She had to think of something and Fen was sure to ask her as soon as they stopped to eat.

It was so hot and muggy. At least it hadn’t rained. Lannie thought of traveling to Ranaglia, to visit her mother’s family. Ranaglia was cooler. They had visited often, once during the winter solstice, although it had been a few years ago. Ranaglia had snow and how exciting that had been, picking up the cold fluffy white stuff and making balls and throwing them smack into the back of Charlton’s head and watching him shriek when the snow dripped down inside his collar. She’d gotten him multiple times, while he missed hitting her with a snowball every single time even though he was older and claimed he had better aim. He’d certainly scored plenty of direct hits on their Ranaglia cousins.

She’d never get to do that again.

Ranaglia would return her to DelFino. Or would they? She might be able to marry in, but only if a male member of the family was eligible _and_ far enough away in consanguinity, liked her despite her total lack of a dowry and zero DelFino connections, and she liked him well enough to, to, to… She shied away from completing the thought. She found herself pushing closer to Fen, despite the lumpy pearls stuffed into her coverall pockets digging into her.

Wait. Lannie wanted to smack herself across the forehead. She had a dowry, even it was stolen. She had the Pearls of Orlov in her pockets. If those pearls were real and they definitely looked real and that awful Rastislav acted like they were real, she was carrying enough coin to purchase a demesne.

But if she had enough coin to purchase a demesne, she could go anywhere. And, she didn’t have to marry anyone she didn’t want to. She had options, if she was bold enough to seize them. And someone didn’t seize the Pearls from her.

Where did she want to go? She had to start over, that was clear enough. Someplace where DelFino and Orlov had no power and no control. Someplace they couldn’t reach. She couldn’t run to any of her other friends. Their families would turn her over to DelFino within seconds of walking in through the front door, in an effort to curry favor. DelFino had a long reach up and down the great Equator road, from Easternmost to Westernmost. Except not so much in Easternmost, hence the decision by Zachery to permit her marriage to the daimyo of Orlov. But if DelFino didn’t hold much sway over the eastern side of Mars, then Orlov did. They’d kill her if it meant retrieving the Pearls of Orlov.

The humidity made the air feel like a thick, choking blanket. She could feel sweat trickling down her back. The coverall was far too big, swaddling her in heavy fabric. It would be nice to be cool. It never got cold in DelFino. Even her corner was still too close to the equator, although home wasn’t as hot as Barsoom.

Poor mama, sweating in the crumbling manor house and not knowing that daddy had tried to poison her. Lannie had thought and thought and she couldn’t come to any other conclusion. Daddy had poisoned mama for some stupid reason because Mistress Vaughn seemed far too smart to do it on her own. _She_ had no reason, unless daddy was involved. But why would daddy?

Well. She wasn’t going back to ask. So where did she want to go?

“Lannie,” Fen twisted in the saddle. “We’ll be turning onto the Pole-to-Pole road at the next cross street. We’ll stop at the first waystation. Water for Coppertail and us and mil-rats.”

“Okay,” Lannie said, not wanting to argue about his decision despite how hungry and thirsty she was. At least no one was shouting at them anymore like that work crew at the thicket. They were being ignored, other than the occasional stare and pointed fingers and loud sniggers. Which Fen ignored as beneath his notice so she did too. The Pole-to-Pole road ran right past Ranaglia on its way to Northernmost. You couldn’t get farther away from Barsoom than Northernmost. If the distance didn’t discourage casual travelers, the dreadful weather of the frigid polar region would.

She’d go to Northernmost.

No one from DelFino or Orlov would ever go there, except to retrieve the Pearls of Orlov but they had to know she was there and how would anyone ever find out? Lannie chewed on her lip. Could she ask Fen to take her to Northernmost? He was riding north all the way to Darnay, wherever that was. He wouldn’t take her for free. It would take days and days just to ride past the endless fields of DelFino bordering the far eastern edge of the Pole-to-Pole corridor. It had to be six hundred klicks or more between Barsoom and Hylind; the free-city closest to DelFino’s northwestern corner.

Lannie felt herself grin. She wasn’t broke. She had the Pearls of Orlov. She didn’t have to admit to Fen how many pearls she had stashed in her pockets. All she had to say was part of the truth. She stole some pearls to escape the awful things Orlov was going to do to her and offer him half. She didn’t have to say how many pearls half was. Hmm. Maybe she should get to know him better. He might steal all the pearls and abandon her, especially if he realized how many she was carrying around. Better to wait a few more days.

Maybe she could figure out a way to help mama too. And, she wanted to groan, her brother. Charlton didn’t know what daddy had done. He’d kill their father when he found out. Lannie couldn’t muster up any sympathy for daddy. How big were daddy’s gambling debts anyway? Charlton, though. He’d been working hard to save their corner of DelFino. Charlton could use the money selling a few pearls would bring. He’d use it more wisely than daddy. She hoped. At least her brother had escaped marrying the Orlov harpy; a benefit for both of them.

A plan grew in her mind. Ulla would be so proud of her for thinking first instead of racing off, halfcocked. She’d stick with Fen for a few more days, as long as he allowed, until she got to know him better and offered him a few pearls to take her to Northernmost. Once she was settled in Northernmost, she’d mail some pearls to Charlton to take care of mama.

How far was it to Northernmost, anyway? She’d have to find out.

* * *

Nelly gave her much fatter purse a fond pat as she strolled down the avenue. The trolley conductor had been _very_ friendly, insisting on showing her around the big city of Barsoom. He’d sworn it was his civic duty to help young ladies from the provinces make the adjustments needed to fit in and he’d been correct. He’d taken her out to dinner, explained how the trolleys worked, showed her the big shopping district and bought her a pretty silk scarf and the smart new fan she was currently using, and then, later on, he’d shown her a very nice time.

Better than the sot, at any rate.

And when she kissed him goodbye after a breakfast he paid for, he still hadn’t twigged to her filching a few coins from his purse while he snored away. Not many, she was too canny for that. Only a few so he wouldn’t miss them and assume he’d spent them on something else, but they were enough for her to buy a secondhand but still fashionable dress. Nor did he notice how she’d palmed part of the tip he had left for the waitress, the dumb sod. That surly waitress didn’t need the coin as much as she did.

Nelly smiled at her attractive reflection in the shop’s window. How much better she looked dressed like a lady instead of a housemaid or a low-caste worker in an ugly coverall. Already men were giving her many more admiring and speculative glances. Maybe she’d stay in Barsoom a few days more. It was a huge city, making it easy to disappear into. As long as she was careful, and she was a careful, canny girl if she did say so herself, she’d do just fine. Then, when she’d earned a full purse of gold and silver coins and a fine wardrobe to wear and nice leather suitcases to store her new wardrobe, she’d head out toward Westernmost to try her luck as an adventuress. She already had jewelry, thanks to that soppy Miss Iolanthe and of course, all those fake pearls waiting to be sold or strung into necklaces.

She’d be just like Mrs. Pondicherry. She’d use people to get what she wanted. And what she wanted now was a nice lunch in a nice café and not those damn mil-rats; a lunch paid for by someone else like that well-dressed, older man at the corner openly eyeing her.

* * *

“Mommy?”

Charlton stopped dead in his tracks as the little girl’s voice from behind the curtain mixed with Iolanthe’s moan of pain as she struggled to her feet.

“Is Lannie hiding in there?” he demanded. “Don’t lie to me, Shondra.”

She had gone deathly pale, trying hard to look bigger and block his way.

Iolanthe staggered towards Charlton, determined to calm everyone down and thus keep Shondra’s pack of ferocious dogs outside the hovel at all costs. One encounter with the fearful beasts was enough and there was, based on the low growl, another dog behind the ragged curtain with the child. Two children. Charlton had told her what Lannie told him: Shondra had two daughters. Two and within such a short time! Most couples were ecstatic to have three children spaced out over a decade and Shondra Sakamoto had given birth to two daughters in four years. Lunt Sakamoto must have sinned irretrievably against his demesne and family for them to let fertile, healthy Shondra escape with her children. The only possible reason was because they were daughters who would have eventually married out and that still didn’t make sense. No Four Hundred family let children leave; they placed them with a childless member of the clan, like the Khan family had done with Naomi’s baby. What had Lunt Sakamoto done?

“I swear I haven’t seen Lannie!” Shondra cried. “Don’t hurt us and don’t tell anyone you were ever here or where we live.”

“I will,” Charlton gasped. “But I have to see for myself. Please, Shondra. I have to find my sister.”

“Charlton,” Iolanthe pleaded. “I think Lannie would come out if she was there. She’d hear us. Please, step away from Shondra and let’s work this out.” She stumbled closer to him, her face a rictus of pain.

“Shondra!” came Junsu’s voice from outside, over the barking of the dogs.

Shondra threw Charlton an agonized glance and another at Iolanthe.

Charlton stepped back, away from Shondra and the curtain, and ran to Iolanthe, wrapping his arms around her. “You better be right,” he said and buried his face in her unveiled hair.

“Settle!” Shondra screamed and the dogs again went silent, other than low, warning growls. “Junsu, I’m fine. We’re all right.”

“You swore on your name, boy, that you wouldn’t hurt our Shondra,” Junsu said through the window. “I won’t forget or forgive if you break your oath and neither will your gods.”

Charlton stood frozen, holding Iolanthe as though he would never let her go and she leaned into him, letting him hold her up while she supported him. His face was twisted with grief. He whispered, so only she could hear, “Lannie. I screwed up, Lannie. I’m so sorry. None of this was supposed to happen.”

“She’s not here, Charlton,” Shondra said quietly. “It’s my little girls. Amita and Lavonne. They’re with our dog, Brave. She never leaves their side.”

“I hoped,” Charlton mumbled. “I hoped you lied.”

“No. I did not.”

“We won’t harm you or your little girls and we won’t breathe a word to the Sakamoto family,” Iolanthe said. “You’re afraid they’ll seize them back, aren’t you.”

“Yes, I am. They gave me almost nothing to live on and threatened my family if I went home to them in Pratch. If I fail to make it on my own, they’ll take them back and I can’t ever let them return to their father. He’s a cruel man.”

“You don’t believe the Sakamoto family will protect your girls from their father?” Iolanthe asked gently.

“No, maybe, I don’t know. But I won’t take the risk. They exiled me, instead of him as they should have.”

“He must have been dreadful and you must have proof that they could not ignore and yet they are,” Iolanthe said. Charlton clung to her, breathing heavily and she realized for the first time how much he had been counting on finding Lannie with Shondra because the alternatives were so much worse.

“Do you know much about Orlov? Where I’m from? Our daimyo is always the eldest son of the eldest son and we’ve suffered through three generations of ruination, each daimyo worse than the last. All of us suffer, from the family on down to the lowliest of our serfs. We call Rastislav, he’s our daimyo, the sot because he is permanently drunk. The sot is why I am crippled and why my mother is dead. He killed her because he was drunk and she died trying to save me. I would never send a child to Orlov while the sot remains in power and I will not send your children to Sakamoto. Never.”

“You understand.”

“Yes, Shondra. I do. We do.”

Shondra stared at her hands, then gathered her courage. “Amita. Lavonne. Come out with Brave.”

“I’m sorry I sneezed, mommy.”

“Yeth, mommy.”

Two little girls peeked shyly around the ragged curtain, wearing what had once been fine clothes, now stained, outgrown, and patched. A three-year-old and a toddler, Iolanthe thought, as Lannie had told Charlton. Oddly, they both had close-cropped hair. The dog with them, dark and shaggy, growled menacingly. The pony-sized beast was big enough for both girls to ride and prominently displayed fangs as long as her fingers. They clutched at the dog; their hands buried in its thick fur. The dog’s ears were fringed with white fur, startlingly bright against the dark brown, like the blaze on its deep, broad chest.

“Hello,” Iolanthe said, swallowing her fear of the beast-dog. “I’m visiting your mother with my husband, Charlton. I’m Iolanthe and it’s very nice to meet you.”

Neither girl spoke, paralyzed with shyness. The older girl rubbed her runny nose and sniffled. She must have been the one who sneezed. A fungal infection possibly. They were common.

“They’ve learned to be wary around strangers,” Shondra said. “They have to be.”

“I’m sorry, Shondra,” Charlton said in a remote, far-away voice. He sighed gustily and Iolanthe caught sight of a tear and remembered that moment on the trolley the day before. Charlton DelFino might have fought with his sister on a daily basis, but he loved her and he wanted her to be safe.

“May I go in and look?”

“There’s not much to see. We have a pile of straw we sleep in with the dogs.”

“You’ll never be cold,” Charlton said distractedly. “Not with five dogs.”

“No, we aren’t. Come to mommy, girls, Brave,” Shondra said and both girls walked to her, never letting go of the dog’s fur. Even when they crowded next to her, each of the girls kept one hand buried in the dog’s fur and clutched their mother with the other hand. The dog crouched in front of Shondra, ready to pounce, and its feral yellow eyes never left Iolanthe and Charlton. It had paws as big as salad plates.

“Do you think you can walk over to the doorway with me?” Charlton asked. “I can feel you shaking and I know you must be hurting.”

“Yes. It’s a short walk,” Iolanthe said.

“So it is.”

The room behind the curtain was even smaller than the main room. It was, as Shondra said, empty except for a pile of old straw and some clothes hung on hooks. There was a small hand rake and a mound of dog hair. They had nothing except themselves.

“I cannot believe how Sakamoto is treating you,” Iolanthe said. “This is disgraceful. Our serfs live better than this.”

“So do my peasants, and we’re the poorest corner in DelFino,” Charlton said coldly as he stared at the pile of old straw on the packed dirt floor. “Thank you, Shondra, from the bottom of my heart. I’ll do what I can for you. I’ve got a little coin with me and I want you to take it.”

Shondra wavered openly, pride warring with expedience. “Whatever you can spare,” she said at last, grimacing as she spoke.

“You have pretty hair,” the older girl whispered and wiped her runny nose again on her sleeve.

“Thank you,” Iolanthe said. “It does make it hot, though. Your hair must be so cooling being so short.”

“I sold our hair to the wig-maker,” Shondra volunteered. “He pays better than the felt-maker. She buys the dog hair.”

“Shondra, I’ll take you in. To my estates in DelFino. You, your girls, and your dogs. I’ll protect you,” Charlton said, his voice remote.

“You might, but will your daimyo?” Shondra asked. “He was in favor of marrying Lannie to the daimyo of Orlov despite what _she_ wanted. Sakamoto is a power to the southeast. They’ll cause trouble if they find out. DelFino is a demesne and not a free-city. I don’t know if I could go back to one.”

“Think about it, Shondra. If you change your mind, let me know. We’ll claim you’re one of Iolanthe’s distant relatives fallen on hard times. Keep me posted on your address and I’ll send you what coin I can spare. Lannie’s probably told you how things stand with us.”

“We’ll be discreet,” Iolanthe hastened to add. “I would guess that Sakamoto wouldn’t like knowing you were receiving aid from anyone.”

“No, they wouldn’t. They would claim I was violating the confidentiality terms of my divorce agreement and seize my children.”

“We won’t stay, Shondra,” Charlton said, still remote and sad. “Our carriage will draw attention to you and you don’t need that.”

“When will you return to DelFino?” Shondra asked.

“When I find Lannie. She must be in the city and if she’s not, she must have taken the train to Ranaglia or to one of her friends’ demesnes. Ulla is checking the train station while we came here.” Charlton grinned suddenly, a flare of his father’s famous charm peeking through the gloom. “She thought you’d be even less likely to talk to her than you would talk to me.”

“She’s right about that,” Shondra said. “I never met anyone so tactless and ready to tell everyone around her how to improve themselves.”

“That’s our Ulla,” Charlton said. “But if anyone can get a train station full of employees and passengers to talk, it’s her.”

“Yeah, to make her go away faster,” Shondra said sourly, an open hint.

* * *

Iolanthe insisted on hobbling to the carriage and when she stumbled for the third time in a few steps, Charlton scooped her up and carried her the rest of the way.

“Don’t be daft,” he said over her protests. “We put on a show for the neighbors the second we arrived in the DelFino carriage. What’s one more thing for them to gossip about for the next year?”

“I suppose,” Iolanthe said, mortified again at how her body betrayed her. On the other hand, she was farther away from Shondra’s pack of monster dogs. They’d have to knock Charlton over before they could devour her because he would not drop her. The dogs watched avidly, growling and suspicious, and she had to admit Charlton moved faster carrying her than she could have walked on her own.

James waited by the carriage, hanging onto the skittish horses’ reins. They were not happy. The coachman was favoring one leg, where a horse must have kicked him. Junsu opened the gate for them, just long enough for them to escape the dogs and closed it afterwards.

“Junsu,” Charlton said. “Don’t run off. Let me get my wife settled first.”

Once Iolanthe was seated, he remained by the carriage. He dug out his notebook and wrote with careful, painful letters. He handed the paper to Junsu.

“Here’s my address in DelFino. Write me if anything happens to Shondra. I have very little power, but I’ll do my best to see that she’s okay.”

“All right,” Junsu said. “DelFino’s a long ways from here, though.”

“I know.” Charlton dug through his pockets. “Here’s the rest of my coin. Shondra wouldn’t take more so you take it and pay her rent or buy medicine for her kids. You know what she needs better than I do.”

Junsu smiled suddenly. “No worries, mate.”

* * *

“What do we do next?” Iolanthe asked, as James got the horses moving. They were skittish and restless and overjoyed to be moving away from Shondra’s pack of monster dogs. So was she.

“Shondra’s old address. Then we go home for a late lunch,” Charlton said. “I’m broke, it’s free, and Shondra needs those mil-rats for herself, her kids, and her pack of dogs. Then we’ll make the rounds ourselves of whoever is in Barsoom."

“How broke are you?” Iolanthe asked.

“Not as broke as Shondra.” He sighed gustily and his expression turned sullen. “I have a small allowance from DelFino, we all do, but I’ve been spending mine on repairs. I’m not sure how much left I have to draw on and I can’t borrow against the next quarter. My estates are supposed to fund me and they aren’t.”

Fear lanced through her again; what Charlton needed desperately versus what she brought to their yet-to-occur legal marriage. “I have no dowry to help you.”

“You are your own dowry and we’ll manage. We’ll eat a lot of yams and rabbit” — he grimaced — “and the roof will leak for another decade.”

* * *

Ulla got nowhere with anyone. No one had seen Lannie but everyone knew the story. The afternoon dragged inexorably by, one awkward visit after another, and then she had to prepare for an unwanted dinner with Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard. Damn Auntie Ottilie and damn the daimyo too for insisting on such a time waster when she could be searching for Lannie. At least the daimyo wasn’t going to hover over her meeting with his nephews, ready to carp over everything she did wrong. Auntie Ottilie was reserving that pleasure for herself.

* * *

“Remember what I told you during the carriage ride,” Aunt Ottilie said.

“Yes, auntie. I will,” Ulla replied gloomily.

Damn her eyes. Aunt Ottilie had insisted on Chez Gramscee for this dinner with Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard. The dining room was richly appointed, the food was excellent, the lighting romantic, the service impeccable, and every dinner she’d had there, meeting some well-placed, high-status charming young man, had ended badly. Maybe Ottilie got a kickback from the restaurant. There were plenty of other restaurants that the Four Hundred frequented in Barsoom. DelFino didn’t have to use this one. She wasn’t superstitious but Chez Gramscee was starting to feel jinxed.

Ulla dutifully tagged behind as auntie Ottilie swanned through the spacious lobby, past the glittering bar area, and into the cavernous dining room, meeting and greeting so many dear friends and introducing dear Ulla each time. She knew everyone, it seemed, which was probably why she was still DelFino’s matchmaker.

Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard were waiting for her at a table set for three. The eye-wateringly dressed matron (who was that again?) with them smiled and cooed to Ottilie while Ulla and Andreas and Harcourt (she hadn’t yet attached a name to a face which didn’t bode well for the upcoming dinner) watched each other awkwardly. Another bad sign. She didn’t know anything about them but from their expressions, Walter had told them plenty about her.

Ulla forced herself to be rational. It didn’t have to be Walter who had badmouthed her. He, despite certain poor character traits, would not degrade any member of DelFino in public. Except Charlton. Or Albion. Or Albion’s father. And, as she thought about it, there were others in the family too. What had Walter said about her? Or it could be that the Keerkehgard brothers had spoken to other well-placed, high-status, charming young men who had rejected her in the past. All those young men knew each other and they gossiped like old women despite claiming not to.

She wished she knew more about Andreas and Harcourt but she didn’t have any penpals in Keerkehgard to ask and she hadn’t had enough time to ask anyway.

Too late now and in the meantime, Lannie was wandering the streets of Barsoom in mortal danger and not just because she was carting around the Pearls of Orlov. During the afternoon she had persuaded Lesten, her coachman, to tell her his fears about what befell naïve young women in the big city. Lannie, all by herself, was valuable and if they didn’t find her fast, they’d never find her at all. Lesten said all the DelFino footmen and stablehands, based on their experiences in Barsoom, agreed.

“Ulla!”

“What?” Ulla blurted, wincing when she realized she hadn’t been paying any attention and had no idea what had just been said.

“Where are your manners?” Aunt Ottilie demanded frostily. “Do forgive her, Andreas. Harcourt. Mairéad, I promise Ulla is normally much better behaved as one would expect a DelFino to be. Other than her regrettably behaved mother, of course.”

So that must be Mairéad Keerkehgard, glaring at her in open disapproval and already finding fault with her hair, her clothes, her manners, and her ragged fingernails and damn, she’d forgotten her gloves that would hide the evidence even though she didn’t normally wear the pesky things which is why her fingernails were the state they were in. And trust Aunt Ottilie to get in a dig about her mother, even when it might interfere with a good match between DelFino and Keerkehgard. What was Zachery thinking, keeping her in her position?

Trees. Think about asking questions about properly managed tree plantations. At least it would be educational and better than some boring discussion about birdwatching or a baffling one about the esthetics of cloud formations.

“It’s so nice to meet you. Both.” Ulla winced again. No help for it. She’d not been paying attention when Mairéad or was it Ottilie had made the introductions. “You’re Harcourt?” she asked the older brother. Gleesh, they were old. Both brothers should have been married years ago. She would practically be a child-bride compared to either of them; like Lannie was to the daimyo of Orlov.

“No. I’m Andreas. My younger brother is Harcourt.” The phrase inattentive moron hovered in the air.

“My apologies,” Ulla said and waited to be seated by someone; Andreas, Harcourt, a waiter, anyone because a lady of the Four Hundred didn’t pull out her own chair in public any more than she opened her own door in public.

No one did so she sat herself down and frowned at the array of beautifully polished silverware, gleaming porcelain, sparkling crystal, snowy table linens, and a low bowl of flowers that Constance would have arranged infinitely better and thought of weeks spent teaching Lannie how to supervise a staff to make sure all that work got done promptly and properly. What was Lannie eating for her dinner?

“Well,” Ottilie said with a sour smile. “Mairéad and I will leave you young people to get acquainted. We’ll be one table over so you’ll have some privacy. We’ve already ordered your dinner menu so you’ll have more time to chat.”

“How efficient,” Ulla said. She looked over at the next table, set for two. Unless the waiters set up a sound-blocking screen, there would be no privacy for her public shaming. She wanted to sigh, then decided that if she was going to be shamed publicly in front of two old biddies who already disliked her, she might as well be honest. It was her duty.

“If you wanted to give us privacy, you’d sit across the room, auntie Ottilie, Lady Mairéad,” Ulla said firmly.

They both reared back, mortally offended, and sat at the nearby table, glaring at her followed by glaring at each other.

“We have nothing to hide,” Andreas said coldly. “Do you?”

“No. Let’s talk about a properly run tree plantation. I don’t know anything and I’m here to learn,” Ulla retorted. “Quit looming over me like a pair of overdressed, trend-chasing scarecrows and sit down, the both of you. You’re making a scene.”

Andreas and Harcourt sat.

“We were told you were a harpy and it’s true,” Harcourt lobbed the first shot. His eyes were crazy bright and he picked up the smallest fork and waved its sharp tines at her to reinforce his point.

A uniformed, white-gloved waiter unobtrusively poured sparkling water into the crystal goblets and handed around warm damp towels to freshen hands.

“You listen to malicious gossip?” Ulla said. “That’s not a point in your favor.”

“As if we care what a harpy like you thinks,” Andreas shot back.

The waiter poured glasses of wine.

“Are either of you capable of discussing tree plantations? Or are you both lazy excuses for Keerkehgard scions? I was told you were well-placed, high-status, charming young men and so far, I’m not seeing any evidence, including the young part,” Ulla said. She picked up her table knife and studied the edge. Dull, like all table knives, making it harder for the guests to stab each other. Maybe aunt Ottilie ordered steak so she’d get a utensil with a sharper edge.

The waiter distributed tiny plates holding tastefully arranged pats of butter molded into roses and a basket of rose-scented miniature muffins. Each muffin was crowned with baked-in rose petals. The dainty butter knives had duller edges than the table knives.

“Why should we explain our methods to DelFino? You can pay for them,” Andreas said. “Or are you too cheap?”

“You are a moron, Harcourt,” Ulla said. “My apologies. You are a moron, _Andreas_. People outside the Four Hundred pay to learn our discoveries and procedures. Within the Four Hundred, we share via between-demesne deals and advantageous marriages, building wealth for our descendants and the Four Hundred as a whole. Or have you spent too much time swinging between your trees to learn that?”

The waiter handed around the salads, artistically arranged selections of leafy greens, orange segments, dried wintenberries, and a wide array of thinly sliced mushrooms garnished with nasturtium petals. Ulla stared at the whole nasturtium decorating the edge of the plate and thought of Lannie, auntie Constance, and how beautifully they arranged flowers. What would she tell auntie Constance when she couldn’t find Lannie? That might kill her, despite her no longer drinking Mistress Vaughn’s poisonous tisanes.

“We are not monkeys. We do not swing between trees,” Andreas grated out. “We grow them, making us the richest timber barons on Mars so we don’t have to listen to some uppity, badly bred DelFino harpy.”

“Then you should know something about growing trees, such as what kind you grow and why, how long it takes, and what products they produce,” Ulla snapped. “It sounds to me like you don’t know anything about your damn trees because if you did, you’d say something intelligent about them instead of this vague propaganda about how wonderful you are.”

“What do you want to know?” Andreas replied, insulted. “I know everything there is to know and I’ll become the daimyo of Keerkehgard because I know so much.”

“That will be a sad day for your demesne, if either of you ever run Keerkehgard,” Ulla replied and focused on eating one of the rose-scented muffins. The muffin tasted like ash and she set it down, unfinished. “That is, if your family goes barking mad and elects you despite every other member of your family being more eligible than you or your brother.”

During the stony silence that followed, she dutifully ate her salad (leafy greens were nutritious) and drank her wine (she needed the alcohol). Auntie Ottilie did have exquisite taste in vintages, she’d give her that.

“Did you know we’re going to fight Charlton DelFino?” Harcourt burst out. His manic smile and increasingly crazy eyes implied he’d been holding himself in check by sheer will. “He broke our cousin Walter’s nose.”

“And here is another display of your incompetence. That’s an internal dispute because Walter is DelFino and not Keerkehgard,” Ulla replied sharply. “First cousins or not, Walter is DelFino, Charlton is DelFino and you. Are. _Not_. So keep your runny noses out of our business. Besides, Charlton broke Walter’s nose because he deserved it, Walter knows that, and he already apologized handsomely to Iolanthe.”

The waiter began handing around the soup course, a clear, refreshing broth adorned with floating slices of cucumber sculpted into daisies and scented with limon leaves. Mistress Vaughn wore auntie Constance’s lost daisy earrings. Maybe she could get them back for Constance, or better, give them to Lannie when she found her.

“That’s not what we were told,” Andreas said.

“Then you have not been paying attention,” Ulla said. “Again, you are not showing the characteristics of a successful daimyo. A successful daimyo doesn’t let his emotions goad him into stupid moves that hurt the long-term prospects of the demesne. A successful daimyo does not start feuds with one of the most powerful families on Mars.”

She aimed her dull table knife at Andreas’ heart. “That would be us, _DelFino_ , in case you didn’t know, being as you are an incompetent moron fresh from swinging around in trees.”

Harcourt put both elbows on the table and leaned forward, staring into her eyes.

“I am really looking forward to pounding fat, slobby Charlton _DelFino_ into paste.”

Harcourt’s manic expression gave Ulla the distinct impression he wanted to pound her into paste and Charlton was a poor substitute, but the only socially acceptable one he would get. At least in public. No, she’d never go near Harcourt Keerkehgard. He would be abusive and it was doubtful his brother was any better.

Then she realized what else Harcourt said.

“ _Fat_ slobby Charlton?” Ulla asked.

“We saw him at a livery stable,” Andreas replied. “Fat. Out of shape.”

“Unshaven and wearing baggy old clothes that a servant wouldn’t be caught dead in,” Harcourt added. He stroked his of-the minute jacket, richly embroidered all over with tiny gold spirals that brought out the unfortunate, lower-caste mottled yellow undertones in his skin.

“A slob made of lard and blubber,” Andreas finished up with a flourish.

The waiter cleared the soup course and began handing out the main course, roasted duckling with oranges over perfumed rice and asparagus tips and snow peas. The duckling had been carefully sliced into bitesize pieces so no sharper knives were needed.

Ulla sat back and gave them a good looking over while her mind raced. The Keerkehgard brothers were tall, slim, aristocratic. Lightweights. Idiots. Charlton outweighed each of them by several stone. She knew what Charlton looked like from seeing him, stripped to the waist in that ditch. He wasn’t fat. At all. Stocky, heavy bone structure, even heavier musculature hidden by badly fitted clothes. Charlton was built like a bull whereas these two fools were built like gazelles. They could dance around all they liked but they’d never knock him down. One punch from Charlton and they’d be laid out on the ground, getting stomped into paste.

She smiled sweetly at the Keerkehgard brothers. “I would be very interested in seeing that match. I’m sure it will be exciting.”

“Gleesh, Ulla,” Harcourt sneered. “Here you’ve been yakking about family business being family business and you want to see your own cousin get beaten into submission?”

“I won’t marry this ignorant harridan,” Andreas announced loudly to the openly eavesdropping guests dining at the surrounding tables. “Neither should you, brother. She’s a bossy, rude, boring harpy with no sense of humor who can’t take a joke. She’ll make anyone miserable. She doesn’t understand the first thing about how a wife should behave.”

Ulla carefully spread her hands on the table (displaying her ravaged fingernails) so she didn’t pick up her plate and throw it at Andreas or lunge at him with one of the dull knives. She concentrated on keeping her temper well enough to not murder Andreas Keerkehgard in front of a crowd of avid witnesses. Despite the provocation and the DelFino name, she might not get away with it.

The waiter leaned over solicitously.

“You deserve better than these sodding little ponces, Miss DelFino,” he said. “They’re flea-bitten moneys fresh from the trees but not as well mannered.”


	27. And most of all, I didn’t lose the Pearls of Orlov!

Iolanthe and Charlton sat down to a very late, subdued lunch in the DelFino townhouse. They had found no trace of Lannie at Shondra’s previous address. The butler, Grimaldi, did not have good news either.

“The staff found no signs of Miss Yilanda anywhere. Nor have they seen any trace of that Nelly,” he said. “Matsuda has Orlov servants searching for that Nelly and, along the way, keeping track of rumors about Miss Yilanda.”

“Thank you, Grimaldi,” Charlton said. “Does DelFino have any banquet or ball invitations for tonight? It would be more efficient to speak with a number of the Four Hundred at once instead of going house to house.”

“As it happens, my lord, we do. The Sakamoto family arrived a few days ago. They will be hosting an open house when dusk falls.”

Charlton and Iolanthe exchanged glances.

“Anyone else?”

“No sir. They discourage competition from other hostesses.”

“What about the family?”

“My lord Zachery made other arrangements for this afternoon and evening so he will not attend. Miss Ulla is out and when she returns, she will meet Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard under Lady Ottilie’s supervision. Lady Ottilie is also out, making the rounds. Master Walter is recuperating in bed and expects to remain there. No other family members are currently in residence.”

“Thank you, Grimaldi.”

Once they were alone, Iolanthe said, “Poor Ulla.”

“She’ll put those fools in their place,” Charlton said.

“True. More importantly, do we dare go to Sakamoto’s open house? If word somehow got back to Shondra —”

“— she’d be sure we were betraying her,” Charlton finished the thought.

He looked over at the clock. There were hours to go before twilight.

“What do you think of sending a message? Shondra might agree. Plenty of people will be there.” His smile flashed. “I can show you off.”

“Hmm,” Iolanthe said. “Let’s be honest in our message. We need to talk to as many people as possible. We don’t bring up Shondra and we certainly don’t chat with the Sakamoto family about Lunt or acrimonious divorces. If we’re asked, we don’t know anything about her. We only talk about Lannie’s escape from the altar, your worthless father, how he poisoned your mother, cheated on her with the village apothecary, gambled recklessly, and what a degenerate, drunken fool the sot is, doing his best to destroy Orlov. That will generate plenty of questions and no one will ask about Lannie’s relationship to Shondra with fabulous gossip like that to chew over. We also don’t mention the Pearls.”

“You know,” Charlton said thoughtfully. “We could get everyone on Mars to search for Lannie if we offered some of the Pearls as a reward.”

“We’d get Lannie murdered and the Pearls would vanish without a trace,” Iolanthe replied crisply. “The Abbot of Mars wouldn’t hand over the Pearls of Orlov in exchange for a pearl hatpin when he could keep them all and fund poorhouses and good works all over the planet. Even he would convince himself he was following the righteous path when facing a temptation like the Pearls.”

Charlton scowled. “You’re probably right.”

“That does happen now and then,” she replied with a twinkle.

“You write the message while I summon a footman,” Charlton said.

* * *

They waited impatiently for Shondra’s answer. Charlton paced restlessly and shadow-boxed while Iolanthe wrote a comprehensive letter to her father in Orlov, covering each day’s events since her arrival in Barsoom and what she needed him to do. That letter finished, she wrote another detailed letter to Cressida Kahn, a more careful letter since she didn’t dare admit the loss of the Pearls of Orlov. She didn’t admit it to Charlton, but she was grateful to be sitting down and resting her hip and leg in quiet comfort while she wrote. Even more restful, the DelFino townhouse was blessedly empty of dogs, from yappy ankle-biters to pony-sized, man-eating brutes and all the fang sizes in between. While she wrote, he occupied his time examining every object in the glass cabinet, rearranging them as he went.

“Cressida writes to a huge number of people,” Iolanthe said when she finished. “She’ll make sure everyone she knows looks for Lannie. They’ll spread the word to their penpals. She’ll also keep an ear out for what Sakamoto is up to so we can pass that information on to Shondra.”

“Good thinking,” Charlton said.

“I try.” She sipped more of her pain tea, discreetly and thoughtfully provided by Grimaldi. She had not had to ask and embarrass herself by revealing her body’s weakness.

That letter finished, Iolanthe considered her list of penpals, arranged them by the size of their correspondence lists, and began writing. Meanwhile, Charlton rearranged the glass cabinet again, studied all the art adorning the room, discussed the household with Grimaldi, interviewed the footmen as to what they had done and where they’d gone while searching for Lannie, and shadow-boxed as he paced. Hours later, she was finishing up her seventh letter when the footman returned with Shondra’s message.

Charlton snatched it and waited impatiently for the footman to leave and close the door, giving privacy for whatever Shondra said. Iolanthe stretched out her cramped hands, praying for good news. What would they do if Shondra begged them not to go, even if it meant finding Lannie?

He read it aloud.

_Find Lannie. Go to Sakamoto’s open house. I don’t exist. You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know where I live. I don’t exist and neither do my daughters._

“She’s very generous,” Iolanthe said when he finished. Shondra, miracle of miracles, had agreed, despite her open fear of Sakamoto. What had Lunt done?

“Yeah. I won’t betray her trust.”

“We need to persuade her to come to your estates in DelFino. Her daughters need medical care as well as real food, clothes that fit, and a decent place to live.”

“Yeah.” Charlton sat down next to her, and pulled her closer.

“You’re a good partner, Iolanthe,” he said.

“Thank you.” Hurt unexpectedly flared up and she shoved it back. No words of love or affection despite how close they were becoming. Still, he valued her and she decided to be content. While her circumstances were better than she had hoped for, she was discovering she wanted more. She leaned into him. It was deeply pleasant to feel his body against hers. Lannie’s image arose, huddled somewhere alone, scared, and hungry, and shame poured through her. She could not indulge her unruly emotions when Lannie’s life might be at stake.

“We should go back out, I think,” Iolanthe said softly. “Lannie needs us to keep searching.”

Charlton gazed into her eyes, then leaned in to kiss her gently.

“She does,” he said, then let go of her and stood. He studied the clock, ticking away the seconds, minutes, hours of Lannie’s absence.

“Sakamoto’s open house starts at dusk. We don’t have time to go visiting and get back in enough time to get cleaned up for them. We don’t want to be the first arrivals, either.”

His eyes lit up and he grinned expectantly. “How’s your leg? Need another massage?”

“Well, I can always use ….” Her voice trailed off when she realized what he was implying. “In the middle of the day?”

“It’s not the middle of the day. It’s late afternoon and we have the house to ourselves and some time and I’ve been with you all day, feeling you pressed up against me.” He leaned in for a kiss, brushing his lips across her cheeks.

“Besides, you do have a pink pearl of your own that needs my attention.”

“You are not making sense. The few pearls I have left are fake and they’re creamy pearlescent as is customary with pearls.”

He winked at her. “Not this one. It makes you moan and cry out my name.”

“What? Oh! That, um, pearl.” Iolanthe blinked and reached for her fan, feeling heat surge over her completely out of proportion to the heat of the day.

* * *

“An invitation! You’ll love the Sakamoto family, Rastislav,” Albion DelFino declaimed. He waved the engraved creamy card around as though his presence alone had generated it.

“You assume I do not know them? You assume wrongly,” Rastislav growled. His head was pounding, a hangover headache that would not leave him. He’d cut back on his alcohol, hoping to prevent Madame Orlov’s appearances in his uneasy dreams, but it wasn’t working. He had sent servants out constantly, searching for the Pearls of Orlov to no avail. Each disappointment brought new fears over how she would punish him for all eternity if he failed.

Worse, his long-dead father had appeared as well, spewing hate and bile.

He had no distractions from his unruly thoughts and fears.

Nelly had run off. She had proven herself a traitor to all of Orlov when she abandoned the ugly cripple instead of serving her as a properly respectful Orlov serf should have. Worse, with Nelly gone, he had yet to find a substitute in the Orlov townhouse. All the housemaids were old and ugly battleaxes and Matsuda, the butler, insisted the young pretty ones had gone home for various family emergencies. The brothel he frequented when in Barsoom would make arrangements but those were expensive and they insisted on being paid upfront. Street whores had been shying away from him although he didn’t know why. In either case, money was becoming the true objection. If word escaped about the Pearls vanishing, loans would be called in and future loans denied.

Even more agitating, that worthless rotted ham had been correct. Few people were willing to receive him, despite being the daimyo of Orlov, a power to the east. The story of Yilanda jilting him at the altar had raced all over Barsoom to the point ordinary commoners — even street whores — had heard it and jeered when he went by. It brought back all the gossip about his previous marriages, their unpleasant endings, his drunken behavior; the list was painful and endless.

The only saving grace, the only satisfaction Rastislav had, beside the fact that no one knew faithless Yilanda had stolen the Pearls of Orlov, was the rotted ham wasn’t being received either. By anyone. His thug son, Charlton, had seen to that when he provided the newspapers with every lurid detail of Albion’s perfidious behavior. The gossip clung to him like filth from a swamp.

Even social climbing merchant families had barred their doors to the daimyo of Orlov and Albion DelFino which he would have never expected. Those bootlickers were overjoyed to sell their well-dowered daughters to the Four Hundred, hoping to receive access and titled grandchildren in exchange. They had lower standards than street whores who would refuse when they didn’t need the coin.

In his worst moments, Rastislav wondered if Yilanda’s theft of the Pearls had cursed him. And the demesne. Madame Orlov would not let him alone, her shrieking image intruding into his brain no matter what he did. And now his horrible father joined her angry tirades. Was his degenerate grandfather next? He shuddered, feeling as though armies marched across his grave.

“You are an idiot, Albion,” Dimitri sneered. “Sakamoto invites everyone to their spring open house. Even you should know that.

There was his other irritation, Rastislav thought, glaring at Dimitri through rheumy eyes. The cripple’s brother had been blunt: the family knew everything down to the last, painful detail. The family’s verdict was equally blunt. He had to rescue the Pearls of Orlov or die trying. Dimitri was there to ensure he succeeded. Dimitri was also there to check his spending, claiming the demesne could no longer afford his whims.

Rastislav felt for the dagger he had begun carrying. He wanted to slit the young fool’s throat but Dimitri had been equally blunt on that subject. If anything unfortunate happened to _him_ , the family would assume Rastislav was at fault and he would lose the demesne.

“We should still attend,” Albion said confidently. “It is expected. We are in town and we may discover where my wayward daughter has run off to.”

“Why not,” Dimitri said. “It’s an open house so the two of you might be admitted.”

“And you are guaranteed admittance?” Albion asked sweetly.

“Naturally,” Dimitri replied. “I didn’t ruin my serfs as both of you did. I didn’t poison my wife. I didn’t gamble away my patrimony or get banned from my demesne. I didn’t consort with village apothecaries, cheating on the most beautiful woman on Mars. I didn’t behave so badly that my bride-to-be jilted me. And most of all —” he jumped to his feet and screamed “— I didn’t lose the _Pearls of Orlov_!”

“Enough!” Rastislav yelled, also on his feet. “We go to Sakamoto. Perhaps Yilanda is there with the Pearls.”

“Better ask carefully,” Dimitri scoffed. “If Sakamoto knows Lannie is there and discover she has the Pearls, they’ll deny it. You don’t want them to know we don’t have them and you really don’t want that pack of vultures to know that the Pearls are loose on Mars, waiting for some lucky finder.”

Albion watched warily from his side of the drawing room. If Rastislav threw him out, he had no place to go and his creditors (unpleasant men with even more unpleasantly large enforcers) would find him. Dimitri was young and strong and openly disliked him. He could not go home because of Zachery’s ban and worse, Charlton hadn’t made an idle threat about hanging him. He was trapped in the Orlov townhouse. It had been shocking to discover that he, every hostess’s dream dinner guest, was less acceptable in their homes than some filthy low-caste peasant. _Charlton_ and his ugly cripple were more welcome. It was mortifying.

“If I may,” Albion ventured.

“You have nothing worthwhile to say,” Rastislav said. “Shut up.”

“Let the ham speak,” Dimitri countered. “He, at least, does not spend most of his hours at the bottom of a bottle trying to hide from his failures as a man.”

Rastislav roared back to his feet.

“What would Madame Orlov say to you now?” Dimitri asked, unimpressed. He blew on his fingernails and began buffing them on his jacket front. “If the ham has an idea that may get us back the Pearls, I’d like to hear it just as I am sure _she_ would.”

Barking mad, the whole pack of them, Albion thought but carefully kept his face bland and smiling. Barking mad could become dangerous.

“As I advised at the cathedral, we should hire outside help,” Albion said.

“A stupid idea, paid for by Orlov coin,” Rastislav said, turning back on a safer target.

“You advised this at the cathedral?” Dimitri asked. “I did not know this.”

“Our dear daimyo did not wish to entertain the idea,” Albion replied suavely. “He felt it unnecessary as he believed my darling little girl would return on her own once she discovered the horrors of the streets of Barsoom and he persuaded me to his way of thinking. It did threaten rain and my little girl had nothing to eat and nowhere to go.” He spread his hands and gave his most charming smile. “I did not bring it up again.”

“We do not have the coin,” Rastislav said.

“Because you are a wasteful sot,” Dimitri snapped. “Decades of your line’s mismanagement has brought us to near-ruin and then you lost the Pearls.”

“I did not lose them. She stole them.”

“Because you were insane enough to bring them to Barsoom in the first place! You could not wait a single week to return to the demesne with Yilanda and adorn her with the Pearls there?”

“She asked me to,” Rastislav said sulkily.

“There’s no fool like an old fool and you’re the biggest fool on Mars,” Dimitri said. “Explain yourself, Albion. We must have the Pearls back and we cannot ignore possibilities no matter how distasteful the person proposing them is.”

“You are most gracious,” Albion said. “I have thought long on the idea. It has real merit in terms of —”

“Get to the point,” Dimitri interrupted.

“I must agree with Dimitri,” Rastislav added. “You are longwinded.”

Albion regrouped. “You and that harpy, Ulla, were unsuccessful, yes?”

“Unfortunately,” Dimitri said.

“The harpy did not help your cause,” Albion said. “We need someone who can be sympathetic, who can be systematic, who can travel where we cannot, who knows the streets and alleys of Barsoom. We need a private investigator; one who will search for my darling missing daughter because I, her father, desperately want her to come home. And you, my dear Rastislav, were naturally humiliated by your bride jilting you at the altar but you fell madly in love at first sight with my little girl and you, even if she still refuses you, care enough about her wellbeing to want her safe. Despite the sordid gossip Charlton and his crippled bride spread about, _those_ facts are true and cannot be disputed. We do not need to mention the Pearls of Orlov.”

“You fell in love with Yilanda at first sight?” Dimitri asked skeptically.

“Yes,” Rastislav lied stoutly. “I, _we_ must retrieve the Pearls. But I also wish every happiness to Yilanda even if she still refuses me. I cannot bear the thought of her lying dead in some ditch if I could have prevented it.”

“A private investigator works for hire,” Albion said. “He would work for _us_. Not my ungrateful son or my cruel daimyo who seems to be making no effort at all to retrieve a daughter of DelFino or for those newspaper vultures or anyone else. Nor would he know about the Pearls and search only to steal them for himself. He would work for us, because we are paying his fee.”

“You mean because _I_ am paying his fee,” Rastislav said.

“My daimyo is correct,” Dimitri said. “What do you gain by this other than a refuge from your creditors? You care nothing for Yilanda.”

Albion gazed nobly off into the middle distance while he prepared his lines. Delivery was everything and could win over a hostile audience.

“I do care,” he said when he judged the pause was long enough. “I admit I mishandled things. But the thought of my little girl terrified and starving in some alley breaks my heart. I cannot go home again, but my little girl can go home to her mother, my darling Constance.”

“Darling Constance whom you poisoned,” Dimitri said, oozing disdain.

“While cheating on the most beautiful woman on Mars with some village drab,” Rastislav added.

“Again, I admit I mishandled things,” Albion said sincerely and truthfully. “I would like to save my little girl. That’s all I ask anymore. Not my estates in DelFino. Not my marriage to my darling Constance. Not the esteem of my peers. My dear daughter, safe and sound at home with her mother.”

“You do not want some of the Pearls in exchange?” Rastislav purred. “I saw your reaction to them, how you ogled them.”

“The Pearls overwhelmed me,” Albion said. “I admit it. They are more beautiful than moonlight on fresh snow. But in the end, they are not as beautiful as my darling Constance whom I have lost forever or my sweet Yilanda, terrified and lost. This may be my only chance to save my only daughter from the streets of Barsoom.”

He eyed Rastislav and Dimitri from under partially closed eyelids. A bit more convincing might do the trick. “Keep this in mind. A private investigator is less likely to question my motives than yours. I am Yilanda’s father whereas you are not family. I speak with the investigator while you pay the bills and we will all benefit. You retrieve the Pearls of Orlov and I get my daughter back.”

Dimitri scowled at Albion.

“It pains me deeply to say this, but the ham’s suggestion has merit,” he said. “We have not found Yilanda or the Pearls with all our searching. We should hire this investigator.”

“And with what coin?” Rastislav asked. “The family has insisted that I be careful with money.”

“Stop wasting it on whores and we’ll have the coin an investigator would demand,” Dimitri shot back. “Or are whores more valuable to you than the Pearls? Imagine what Madame Orlov would say on that subject.” He watched Rastislav recoil and inspiration struck.

“Madame Orlov does not normally speak to me in my dreams. But now I think I understand what she meant last night, when she visited me as she so rarely does. She wishes us to search harder, more thoroughly, yet we cannot hire more servants in Barsoom without gossip spreading across the city about the loss of the Pearls. Nor can we wait to ship in fresh servants from Orlov. Time is of the essence, my lord daimyo. The longer Yilanda DelFino is lost, the more opportunity someone else has to find her and seize the Pearls.”

Albion saw his cue. “The boy is right, Rastislav.”

Rastislav lurched to his feet and paced around the room. It did not feel right hiring someone from the outside, someone who might not have the proper respect for him, Orlov, or for the Four Hundred. Yet the servants had found no trace of Yilanda or the Pearls. Madame Orlov was becoming more insistent in his nightmares and visions. His father had joined her. His grandfather, that vicious degenerate, would arrive next if he did not demonstrate he was searching valiantly.

He paused by the window, staring out at the street below. The sun was sinking into the west, forcing long shadows from pedestrians, trolleys, horses, and vehicles. The shadows writhed on the ground and splayed across the buildings like damned souls. He watched horses trot uncaring on top of shadows, wagon wheels trampling those shadows deeper into the cobblestones. His soul would be damned if he did not retrieve the Pearls. And with the Pearls would come Yilanda DelFino. Young, pretty, fertile. He would enjoy disciplining her and she would bear him an army of sons. But only if he found her.

“Find an investigator, Albion. But I must approve of him. Despite your fine words, I do not trust you.”

“My daimyo is correct,” Dimitri said. “You are a liar, Albion, a poisoner, a cheat, and you refuse to pay your debts. You would steal the Pearls and disappear into the steppes.”

Albion spread his hands and looked hangdog. “I understand,” he said wearily. “As long as I rescue my daughter. That’s all I ask.” If he played this right, he’d get at least some of the Pearls. How gloriously beautiful they were. More precious than a dream come true. A few of the Pearls of Orlov would more than compensate him for the loss of aging Constance, his rundown estates in DelFino, ungrateful Yilanda dying in some ditch.

* * *

Fen eyed the setting sun and approaching dusk with trepidation. He had miscalculated how much adding Lannie’s weight to Coppertail’s burden would slow the gelding down. Coppertail was the best horse he owned but he wasn’t an Olde Earthe automaton, running forever without rest or care. Once they were further away from Barsoom, he’d have to walk or he and Lannie would both walk, giving Coppertail some much needed rest. The problem was they weren’t as far out on the Pole-to-Pole road as he had hoped. Lannie clung to him, patient and uncomplaining; she had been correct about not knowing much about horses. It was like she’d never had to saddle one or feed it or make sure the horse got enough water or a rub down. Strange, since she did know the rudiments of riding. He would have to explain and hope she would understand.

She still hadn’t said why she was running from DelFino and Orlov. He could guess, though. He kept thinking of where she would want to go. If she didn’t have a fixed destination, perhaps he could persuade her to come with him to HighTower.

Lannie was young, pretty, with her whole life ahead of her. HighTower had many single men; even a few of the Hands were unmarried. She’d be courted and wooed and won by one of his vassals. She was probably as far genetically from HighTower as it was possible to be. It was almost a guarantee she’d be fertile. She’d make someone and their family very happy. He’d accrue some much-needed status for bringing her home. Claiming her for HighTower would be beneficial in many ways, yet the concept was distressing.

He swallowed a sigh. It all depended on what she wanted. He’d have to ask when they camped for the night. That was going to be another long, uncomfortable night, too. At least some of his bruises didn’t hurt as much and the swelling on his eye was going down, making it easier to see. Damn those risto bastards. He could cheerfully hate DelFino and Orlov forever.

* * *

The Sakamoto townhouse was larger and more ostentatious than DelFino’s own property; a five-story building lavishly ornamented so it resembled an elaborately frosted, tiered cake. The front façade was veiled by lacy, expensive wrought-iron gates and fencing while stone walls on either side concealed what looked like tree-filled spacious gardens.

“Gracious,” Iolanthe said as they arrived and joined the queue of carriages full of richly dressed guests. Once again, she was the only veiled woman but she just didn’t feel comfortable walking around bare-faced in front of mobs of strangers. “I knew Sakamoto was wealthy but this is more extravagant than I would have believed possible.”

Charlton looked sullen again. “All this coin to waste and they won’t feed Shondra or her kids. Gods know how they treat their peasants if they treat their own flesh and blood that way. We’ll mingle and leave. Open houses don’t expect guests to hang around.”

Iolanthe stared at the other guests, all far more fashionable than she was, wearing what the maids had cobbled together from what they unearthed in the DelFino townhouse’s closets. Charlton’s clothes were likewise poorly fitted, old, and well-worn although of very good quality. This would be a much more public arena than entertaining a parade of curious visitors at the townhouse. She wondered if anyone she knew would be there.

Charlton helped her down from the carriage and she clung to him for a moment, wide-eyed. She couldn’t repress a tremble.

“Nervous?”

“Oh yes,” she breathed. She had wanted to go out in public, but this was supremely public, far more frightening than she had anticipated. The people around them stared; at her veil, at her gloved, twisted hand, at her cane. Probably at her unfashionable attire too, which was equally offensive.

“I won’t stray from your side. James?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I don’t think we’ll be here long. You know what to say and not say and what to ask of the other coachmen and grooms.”

“Yes, sir, master Charlton.” The coachman stared disapprovingly at the house, every window lit from top to bottom so the house illuminated the street and its surroundings. “Hard to believe they’re this rich, yet can’t spare a few coppers where it would do so much good.”

“Yeah. Cheap and vicious.”

* * *

By the time they made it inside, Iolanthe was clinging to Charlton’s arm and even more overwhelmed. The townhouse’s entire first floor was open to the outside gardens wrapping around the building on three sides, French doors flung wide to let in air and sound and the perfume from the flowering trees. The Sakamoto townhouse had been large from the street, but the ornate street façade merely hinted at the grandeur within. Every surface gleamed; marble floors, gilded picture frames, mirrored walls, chandeliers dripping with crystals and, astonishingly, clean and cold electric lights. The guests sparkled too, dripping with glittering gems of every color in shimmering garments in the latest styles. The orchestra’s instruments gleamed, silver and gold.

They went through the receiving line, were announced to the ballroom as a whole, and no one came forward to greet them.

“Damnation,” Charlton swore as they stood awkwardly to one side. “I’d hoped someone I knew would be here.”

“None of my penpals are here either,” Iolanthe whispered. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Most of them are wallflowers, like me.”

He smiled down at her. “You’re not a wallflower. You’re gorgeous and you’re with me.”

“You are charming. Shall we chat up total strangers?”

“Yeah.”

They waded into the crowd slowly, Charlton taking his time and not letting anyone crash into her. It was reassuring; his actions showed he cared even if he didn’t use flowery words.

Gradually, whispers spread through the ballroom as to who they were and gradually, they were approached by total strangers lured by the promise of eyewitness gossip about the daimyo of Orlov and how his would-be bride jilted him and vanished. But no one had any news of Lannie’s whereabouts.

“Nothing,” Charlton said sullenly half an hour later. “You’d think my sister fell off the face of Mars.”

“At least we aren’t being questioned about you-know-who,” Iolanthe whispered. “They don’t know about that connection.”

“True. Look at that buffet. Gleesh. It’s bigger than the spread at DelFino’s annual winter solstice gala. Let’s eat their free food and leave.”

The buffet was as impressive as the ballroom; from the sous-chef standing by two entire roasted pigs, slicing off whatever a guest desired to the patisserie chef standing by with bananas flambé at the far end, surrounded by entire pastry shop’s worth of fancy tarts and every possible delicious choice in-between. If guests couldn’t stagger over to the buffet to gorge themselves, liveried waiters ferried trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne to accommodate them.

“Gracious,” Iolanthe murmured, blinking at the overwhelming display. “They could feed an entire village for months with what’s on those tables. Are those real prawns in that silver cauldron? I’ve never seen one before.”

“I think so. They look like giant bugs,” Charlton whispered back. “Want one?”

“I am not sure.”

“Be brave.” Charlton picked up a prawn, turning it over and over in his hands and working his fingers dubiously through the multiple legs extending from the crispy red body.

“You don’t eat the legs,” Dimitri said. “Rip them off, peel off that shell, there’s a silver bucket for the bits, and eat the tail but not the head.”

“Dimitri! You’re here?” Iolanthe gasped. She looked around wildly. “Is _he_ here?”

“Yeah, and the ham too,” Dimitri replied, low-voiced.

“I think the townhouse cats would like these, but I don’t,” Charlton said, after taking a bite out of the prawn’s creamy pink tail. He eyed the head with its beady eyes and antennae. The remains of the prawn eyed him back. “We’ll smuggle some home for them.”

“Typical of you, Charlton,” Albion DelFino declaimed as he came up behind him. “An ill-cultured, ignorant thug at heart, despite everything your mother and I did for you. So sad.”

Charlton went still, then spun and shouted at the top of his lungs “You poisoned my mother! You ruined our estates! You sold my sister to a drunken degenerate geezer! You were banned from DelFino!”

Everyone in the ballroom stopped chattering, stopped dancing, stopped whatever they were doing, and turned to watch the show. Iolanthe took a step back, putting the immense silver bowl of prawns to her back. Despite their bug-like appearance, they were dead and thus not dangerous unless she ate one. To her relief, Dimitri took up a protective position next to her.

“You exaggerate, Charlton,” Albion shouted back. He liked an audience but this one was making him regret opening his mouth. The crowd was becoming distinctly hostile, over and above the icy disdain he had experienced from the moment he entered the Sakamoto townhouse. But once onstage, there was no turning back.

“Break the daimyo’s ban and come and visit, _dad_! I will hang you in the village square in front of the peasants you robbed!” Charlton shouted even louder.

“There is no reasoning with you because you have gone barking mad,” Albion said, posing nobly for the gaping crowd while thinking anxiously about thrown prawns and pulpy, hothouse fruit.

“I am not a degenerate drunken geezer!” Rastislav shouted, panting from his jog from the other side of the ballroom. The Sakamoto open house had been torturous; filled with constant rude questions, snide innuendos, outright snubs, and none of the fawning respect he was used to.

Charlton marched forward, a mad gleam in his eyes. He moved faster than Rastislav retreated and poked a finger into the sot’s paunch making him recoil in fear and clutch his sore, bandaged wrist. “Degenerate, slobby, fat, disgusting. It’s no wonder my sister ran from you. A back-alley whore would run from you!”

“You dare speak to me like this, you misbegotten whelp,” Rastislav shouted, stopping in his tracks. “I adore your sister.”

“Liar! You wanted a fertile teenage squeeze toy, you genetically deficient cad,” Charlton shouted back.

The ballroom went even quieter, inspiring Charlton to a new height. He looked all around, meeting everyone’s eyes. He waved an imperious hand at the crowd, demanding the silence continue.

“It’s true and everyone knows it. Three wives, countless doxies and what do you have to show for it? Nothing! You have sired no living child and you _never will_. My sister could be dead in a ditch right now and she’s still better off because you aren’t beating her to a pulp.”

Rastislav glared in maddened fury. “You are a thug, everyone knows it, and you are stupid enough to marry that penniless, ugly cripple.”

“Penniless because you, Rastislav, daimyo of Orlov, wasted her dowry on back-alley whores! Crippled because you threw her and her pregnant mother down a flight of stairs, murdering her mother and her unborn brother!”

The audience sucked in its breath like a single collective organism and exploded into catcalls and booing.

“The sot will never live this down,” Dimitri murmured to Iolanthe.

“True. But even so, it won’t end well for any of _us_ either,” she whispered back.

Kenzig, the daimyo of Sakamoto stalked forward, the mob falling back on either side of him. He was flanked by burly servants; bodyguards poorly disguised as footmen.

“None of you are welcome in my home. Leave or I will have you thrown out into the street with the rubbish.”

“I am the daimyo of Orlov, you purblind fool,” Rastislav snarled, beset on all sides.

“You are an incompetent drunkard and the fact you are daimyo of Orlov proves the Orlov family is incompetent and insane,” Kenzig stated baldly. “We have few business dealings with Orlov and after this display, we will have fewer.”

Rastislav froze, his mouth ajar. He gasped audibly and began blinking rapidly. Then he began to shudder.

“I’ve got to go, Iolanthe,” Dimitri whispered. “Write to Matsuda and he’ll pass your letters to me. I’ll keep you posted.”

He strode forward and bowed deeply to the daimyo of Sakamoto.

“By your leave, my lord Sakamoto. My daimyo is becoming ill. The stresses of leadership, you know.” Dimitri turned to Rastislav, shivering and sweating. “My lord, permit me to assist you.”

“They are screaming at me,” Rastislav mumbled, his face gone ashy. He stared at the far wall of the ballroom, seeing someone only he could see.

“Ah. You need fresh air.” Dimitri coaxed Rastislav into walking towards the exit. They paused long enough for Dimitri to call out, “Albion, you rotted ham. Are you still our unwelcome houseguest or are you going to take your chances with your creditors?”

Albion smiled graciously. “My dear friend Rastislav needs me,” he cried and hurried after the pair, assisting Dimitri with the sagging, stumbling daimyo of Orlov.

Kenzig watched them go, then approached Charlton.

“As for you, young man,” he began.

“My wife, Iolanthe, and I thank you for your gracious and generous hospitality, my lord Sakamoto,” Charlton said promptly. “No one here has seen my sister, Lannie, and that’s why we came to your fabulous open house. Hoping for information.”

“You should speak to her vile, lying back-alley whore of a friend, Shondra Chee.”

Charlton looked openly confused. “Never heard of her, my lord, and anyways, my sister would never associate with a vile, lying back-alley whore. She is a DelFino and other than exceptions like my worthless father, we have standards about who we associate with.” He grinned suddenly. “I didn’t know Sakamoto devoted time and energy to vile, lying back-alley whores. I’ll tell my daimyo to audit any business deals we have with you right away.”

The daimyo of Sakamoto reared himself up with fury as Iolanthe limped forward and interlocked her arm into Charlton’s. She opened her mouth and Sakamoto, demonstrating ingrained manners when a lady was present, closed his own.

“Does Sakamoto associate with vile, lying back-alley whores that you are familiar with them? I am shocked, my lord Sakamoto, _shocked_ to hear you disparage your own family. I had always believed your family upheld the highest standards of behavior. Mine, alas,” — she cast a speaking glance and a dramatic wave of her hand at Dimitri assisting Rastislav out of the ballroom followed by a much less helpful Albion — “has its share of problems.”

Kenzig Sakamoto looked even more furious, drawing himself up to his considerable height and staring down his nose at Iolanthe.

“Your daimyo may have crippled you and bankrupted your family but he did not lie about your ugliness. Your veil should be thicker.”

Charlton stopped in his tracks, forcing Iolanthe to stop as well. He shouted “That geezer sot, Rastislav, was right about one thing. You are a purblind fool to not see the charming, intelligent, beautiful woman standing in front of you. I guess it’s all those vile, lying back-alley whores you fuck when you’re not fucking over your relatives, your business associates, and your peasants.”

The ballroom fell silent again and everyone watched while Charlton assisted Iolanthe slowly out of the vast, echoing space.

They took a few steps across the empty floor when Charlton stopped again. “I should sweep you off your feet and carry you out of this hellhole,” he said into the silence. “It would look so romantic.” He beamed at Iolanthe.

She laughed, a clear carrying joyous sound, inspiring some of the agog onlookers to smile in response.

“Yes, please do.”

He gracefully swept her up into his arms, inspiring more than one onlooker to sigh as they exited the Sakamoto ballroom, chatter rising behind them like an oncoming storm. Iolanthe waved and blew kisses as they left, inspiring more sighs.

Once outside, she said “We’ll never be invited back.”

“No loss,” Charlton said. “You there! Find me my coachman, James.”

He tossed a coin to the Sakamoto footman who snatched it from the air and hurriedly shoved it into a pocket, trying to avoid notice from the other servants of Sakamoto.

“Yeah,” Charlton said loudly. “Sakamoto treats their servants like dirt. No wonder their daimyo needs bodyguards. He’s afraid someone will shiv him.”


	28. And you, Andreas, have asparagus tips in your hair.

The DelFino carriage appeared out of the alternating bands of light and shadows cast by the townhouse’s windows; the horses led by the Sakamoto servant Charlton had tossed the coin to.

“What do we do next?” Iolanthe asked.

Charlton looked sullen. “Make the rounds, I guess. Someone must know something about Lannie’s whereabouts.”

“No, sir. You have to return to the townhouse,” James the coachman said as he ran up to assist them.

“Why?” Charlton asked. “The only possible reason is to make an updated list of who’s in town that we missed.”

The coachman frowned. “While you were inside and the servants are already gossiping about your stellar performance, Grimaldi forwarded a message from the daimyo. You must return at once.”

“He found her,” Charlton said, his face lit up with hope.

James hemmed and looked uneasy. “The message only said to return, sir. Nothing about Miss Yilanda.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Fen reined Coppertail to a walk. His gallant horse, the best horse he’d ever owned, a horse he had begged his father not to geld as a colt because of the foals he could sire, a horse who if asked would run until his heart burst, was getting tired. It was also getting dark and they weren’t nearly as far down the road as he’d hoped.

Lannie, clinging to him, asked, “Is this where we’ll camp?”

She looked all around in the gathering dusk. Twilight did not make their surroundings look safer. She had expected the Pole-To-Pole corridor to be lined with brightly lit shops and restaurants and cozy inns; instead this portion was lined with rundown factories and tenements interspersed with noisy, brightly lit bars. An abandoned park would be more welcome. They were not alone on the road. Plenty of people trudged alongside them, or rode in wagons or carriages. The train tracks had appeared, six separate sets running between Northernmost and Southernmost, dividing the Pole-To-Pole corridor in half. Like everyone else traveling north they were on the righthand side of the tracks; all the southbound foot traffic was on the other side of the multiple sets of tracks. A noisy passenger train rattled past, heading north and deafeningly loud when added to the street’s clamor. She thought longingly of first-class sleeping compartments and dining cars and ladies’ lounges with clean hot water.

Fen waited until the engine got far enough ahead so he could be heard.

“No.”

“There’s a waystation up ahead,” Lannie suggested hesitantly. “I see a sign. Don’t people sleep there?”

“They do,” Fen replied. “Dirty dorms for women and filthy ones for men and unguarded stables for Coppertail. I’m not leaving you alone to be mugged and I’m sure not leaving Coppertail alone to be stolen.”

“Alone? Away from you?” Lannie gasped. She wouldn’t just get mugged. She’d be murdered as soon as someone realized her coverall pockets were crammed full of pearls. The mugger would think they were fake but that wouldn’t stop them. She could read a newspaper. Barsoom newspapers were always stuffed with lurid crimes committed over pitifully small amounts of money.

“We’re not gonna do that,” Fen said. “I’m not gonna abandon you.”

Lannie had fretted over Fen abandoning her since they’d ridden off together and his statement came as a huge relief. Maybe he even meant it.

Fen had to wonder if she was feeling safer around him. This was the longest conversation they’d had since she met him at the livery stable. She still hadn’t said where she wanted to go. He brightened, despite not knowing where they would sleep. That could mean she had no place to go. She might be willing to come with him to HighTower.

He looked ahead and around, not liking what he was seeing. No parks, no open land of any kind. They had to be nearing Barsoom’s edges which meant farm fields and open steppes behind the fields and buildings. He hoped.

But Coppertail was getting tired and there were still thousands of klicks to travel between here and HighTower.

He wanted to groan, but there was no escaping what he had to do.

“Lannie. I don’t want to stop here but Coppertail needs a break. Do you mind walking further on, until I can find us someplace safe?”

He could feel her tense against him.

“You won’t ride off and leave me?”

He could hear her voice shake. “No, never. We’ll both walk and I’ll find us a place for the night. We’ll stop at that waystation you spotted, get us water, and we’ll push on, yeah?”

Lannie thought about how wonderful and reassuring it had been to sit by the tiny fire Fen had magically lit in the thicket the previous evening. He had even made tea. “It will be really dark. You can still make a fire and a camp?”

“Sure can.” He wished he felt as confident as he sounded. He could sleep cold and rough, but Lannie wasn’t steppes born and bred.

“Okay.”

“We’ll dismount, I’ll lead Coppertail, you take his other side and we’ll keep moving.”

“Okay.”

She was back to one-word sentences, but Lannie was trusting him. Fen smiled up at the stars beginning to show themselves in the clear night sky. It felt damn good. It felt even better to know that wherever they slept, he didn’t have to worry about rain.

* * *

Harcourt Keerkehgard leaped to his feet, knocking over his chair.

“Who the hellation are you to talk to me like that?” he screeched. If anyone in Chez Gramscee hadn’t been paying attention to Ulla DelFino’s blind date with the Keerkehgard brothers, they were now.

“He’s our waiter, you complete and utter cretin,” Ulla yelled back while wondering why the waiter’s voice sounded familiar. “You can’t recognize a waiter when you see one? Do you never go out in public? Do you believe that you should completely ignore the existence of the people who make your life easier?”

“Shut up, harpy,” Andreas shouted and stood, but more gracefully than his brother. To the waiter, he said “I will have you fired for that insult, you oaf.”

“That will be hard, you flea-bitten mangy little sod, since I don’t work here,” the waiter replied. “I’m only here because I wanted to see Miss DelFino.”

Ulla looked up at the waiter behind her.

“Yair?” she asked.

“In the flesh.” He winked at her.

“Oh.”

She had a sudden flash of her hands pressing against his hard, broad chest in the stairwell at the Great Hospital. His restaurant livery fit very nicely, emphasizing his shoulders and height and, she supposed, showing off his very nice ass when he turned around. She had made herself forget how attractive he was. She wrenched her attention back to where it belonged; here and now in a fine restaurant catering to the Four Hundred that would gossip about her for decades, just like they did her mother.

“When I heard you’d be here, I asked for a fill-in shift and got one. To find out if you really were Ulla DelFino,” Yair Buruk replied.

Andreas gaped open-mouthed but recovered swiftly. “You associate with servants? Do you spread your legs for them too like your mother does?”

“How dare you!” Ulla shrieked and did what she’d been longing to do since this ordeal of a dinner started. She picked up the freshly refilled pitcher of iced, sparkling water and threw the contents at Andreas. Since she was a responsible person, she did not throw the crystal pitcher, leaving broken shards for the busboys to clean up.

Aunt Ottilie came next, while Andreas shrieked louder on being pelted by ice and icy water.

“Waiter! Wait on your guests and quit interfering,” Aunt Ottilie said.

“I will have you beaten for your impertinence, you odious wretch,” Lady Mairéad sputtered, breathing fire.

“It’s nice to know how you think non-ristos should be treated, Lady Mairéad,” Yair said cheerfully. “You’re a vicious old biddy, and neither you or Lady Ottilie actually care about the marriage arrangements you make because if you did, you’d recall that both of these ponces have vicious reputations among servants, street whores, and anyone else who can’t fight back.”

Harcourt stopped trying to mop freezing water off his spluttering brother, snatched up the empty pitcher and threw it at Yair. Yair caught it and set it down on Auntie Ottilie’s conveniently close table.

“Making needless work again for the staff to prove you can? Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said. “True aristocrats show more consideration.”

Harcourt stiffened with fury as did his brother. Other waiters finally converged around their table, along with the maître D’, the manager, and several prominent, ecstatic gossip columnists with their notebooks out, rapidly scribbling down what they were witnessing. Finally recognizing how outnumbered they were, both Keerkehgards set down table knives. Ulla stepped back anyway, to get out of range.

Aunt Ottilie knew a losing situation when she saw one.

“Enough!” she shouted, waving her hands imperiously. “Ulla, we are leaving. I’m afraid Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard simply won’t do for you or any of DelFino’s daughters.”

“Because they have more sense than marrying vicious harpies who consort with servants!” Lady Mairéad shouted just as loudly. “I am appalled at Ulla _Tisdale_ DelFino’s behavior. She is just like her disreputable mother.”

“You are correct on all counts, auntie Mairéad,” Andreas said as calmly as he could, considering he was dripping wet and trying hard not to shiver from adrenaline and an ice water bath. “She’s a whore and a harridan.”

Ulla lunged for her untouched plate of roasted duckling, threw it at Andreas, and screamed “I know what my mother is and I am not _her_!” Then to her absolute horror, she lost all control and burst into tears. Sobbing was less humiliating than her other option: swearing like a stablehand and appalling everyone within earshot while she stabbed Andreas Keerkehgard repeatedly with a table knife until she forced the damn dull blade to penetrate his ribcage skewering his evil, black heart.

Or one of the plate shards. They were sharper.

She sank down into her chair, unable to stop heaving and gasping even while knowing that other people, people she knew, were standing on chairs to get a better look. Then to her shock, auntie Ottilie was on one side and Yair on the other.

“We’re going home, Ulla,” auntie Ottilie announced loudly, as she petted Ulla’s shoulder. “I told Zachery this was a mistake but did that fool daimyo listen? He did not. I knew those wretched, overgrown boys were unsuited for you. They’re unsuited for any girl who doesn’t want to be used as a doormat and a punching bag.”

“Take my arm, Miss DelFino,” Yair said on her other side. “We’ll get you out of here.”

Mairéad Keerkehgard stood in the way. She pointed a glittery, strident fuchsia-enameled fingernail at Ottilie. “How dare you accuse my sweet boys of being abusive,” she yelled. “I demand an apology from you and that tart and that waiter that tart is consorting with this instant.”

“Shut up, Mairéad,” auntie Ottilie declaimed. She added even more loudly, “Andreas and Harcourt remain unmarried because no one with any sense would ever allow them near a daughter of their house and you know it. If they were marriageable and they are long since old enough, they would be _married_. They are not. What does that tell you, me, the diners in this establishment, and everyone in the Four Hundred? That they are completely unsuited for any decent girl.”

Andreas marched up, wiping off chunks of roast duckling and oranges from his soggy clothes and stood next to his aunt. “I will beat your cousin, Charlton, into paste and Ulla, I hope you watch.”

“Yeah,” Harcourt said, on Mairéad’s other side. “Because next time, it will be you.” He paled the moment the words left his mouth, particularly since surrounding diners gasped openly.

“Proof right there —” Ulla said through her hiccups as she forced her furious tears back into their box and her hands away from a breakable plate “— that my aunt Ottilie is correct. You and your brother are abusive. And you, Andreas, have asparagus tips in your hair. Trying to set a fashion, cretin? What’s next on your list, propeller beanies?”

“That is your fault, you damned harpy!” Andreas shouted and lunged towards her.

In one smooth move, Yair let go of Ulla’s arm, grabbed a chair, and stepped in front of her. Andreas stopped in his tracks so he didn’t impale himself on a chair leg.

“You really need this story to run in gossip columns from Northernmost to Southernmost, Easternmost to Westernmost?” Yair asked. “Because it will and smear the name of Keerkehgard in front of people who’ve never heard of you.”

“You will regret your actions to the day you die,” Andreas said coldly.

“Not as much as you will,” Yair said. “Miss DelFino, Lady DelFino, I’ll walk you to your carriage. I suspect the Keerkehgard boys will try to mug you in the street.”

“Quite likely,” Lady Ottilie said. “Yair, I believe?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And how do you know Miss DelFino?”

“He helped me when I was lost in the Great Hospital trying to find out if Albion DelFino was poisoning auntie Constance,” Ulla answered loudly. “No one else would.”

Yair nodded in agreement.

“How considerate,” Lady Ottilie said. She cast an icy glare at Andreas Keerkehgard. “Whereas I have heard that you, sir, kick begging children rather than demonstrate any kindness.”

“I do not!” Andreas yelled.

“And as for you, Harcourt,” Lady Ottilie said. “Have you stopped whipping your unfortunate dogs? Cruelty to animals is in such poor taste.”

“They deserve ….” Harcourt’s voice trailed away as he realized what he was admitting in front of horrified, well-connected witnesses.

“Miss DelFino. Would you like me to grind either of those two sods into the pavement for being so insulting?” Yair asked.

“No,” Ulla replied firmly. She flashed a brilliant smile, thinking of her many, widely spread penpals who all had extensive networks of their own. “I’ll take care of them myself.”

“And how will you do that?” auntie Ottilie asked, looking down her nose at Ulla.

“We’re going home early, aren’t we? I’m going to catch up on my correspondence,” Ulla said.

“You’re going to write stupid letters? You are a _stupid_ harpy,” Harcourt said loudly.

“Shut up, Harcourt,” Lady Mairéad and Andreas said as one.

Aunt Ottilie smiled her reptilian smile. “Very good, Ulla. Lady Mairéad, I will inform the daimyo of these boys’ complete unsuitability as husband material. They behaved exactly as I was informed. I recommend you teach them basic decency before shopping them around again. Even a merchant would refuse them for his daughter, fearing she would be severely injured within days of the wedding.”

“Zachery wants what Keerkehgard has to offer, Ottilie,” Mairéad growled.

“Trees grow everywhere, Mairéad. Pay more attention to your surroundings and less to chasing fashion trends designed for scrawny teenagers,” Ottilie replied.

* * *

Yair saw them out to their carriage.

“Miss DelFino, Lady DelFino, it was a pleasure to serve you,” he said and winked again at Ulla before disappearing into the darkness.

“Well, that dinner went about as well as I expected,” Lady Ottilie said as she settled herself in the carriage.

“You knew it would be horrible?” Ulla asked, distracted from unruly thoughts of Yair and why he had showed up.

“Those boys are vile. I told Zachery they were but he demanded you meet them. Research tree plantations, hand him a comprehensive report, and he will recover from his temporary insanity.”

“Oh.”

“I am DelFino’s matchmaker for many reasons, Ulla. In the future, pay more attention to what is going on around you.”

“Yes, auntie Ottilie,” Ulla said, mentally rerunning the conversation from earlier in the day. Ah. Ottilie had dropped clues about her own lack of enthusiasm.

“Servants can be useful sources of information, Ulla, but do not allow familiarities.”

“Yes, auntie Ottilie,” Ulla said dutifully, although she was revisiting her decision about meeting Yair in Burroughs park. Then, dutiful as always, she began a mental list of her correspondents and who would be fastest at ratting out Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard to the Four Hundred.

“I want you to work on your social skills, Ulla.”

Ulla tensed and she had to forcibly keep her fingernails from her mouth, digging them into her flanks instead.

“I am pleased that you write letters. You should also learn which gossip columnists to cultivate discreetly so when your story is told publicly, you have some control over what is said.” Auntie Ottilie gave Ulla another reptilian smile, her sharp teeth glinting in the streetlight they were passing under. “Your mother, ignorant, willful slut that she was, could not be bothered to learn. You seem marginally brighter.”

Ulla sat seething in silence, watching the buildings go by when a thought struck her.

“Auntie Ottilie,” she asked as sweetly as she could manage. “You did not approve of Zachery’s plans for my meeting the Keerkehgard brothers. What was your opinion about Albion and Yilanda and the daimyo of Orlov?”

* * *

Iolanthe gave up trying to make conversation about the constellations becoming visible overhead and how they differed subtly from Orlov’s night skies. Charlton sat in sullen silence, ignoring her.

Finally, irritated into action, she said, “you don’t know what happened, Charlton. You don’t know it’s anything bad.”

That got his attention.

“Yes, I do. In DelFino, we don’t wait if it’s good news. Bad news is always delivered in person. The daimyo is going to tell me they found my sister’s body and it’s my fault this whole fiasco happened! I should have never tried to save my estates and my mother by trading my sister for coin. I was a _fool_. My sister is dead because I was, I _am_ a stupid piece of _shit_.”

“Stop right now,” Iolanthe commanded, catching his hand in hers. He wrapped his fingers around hers to the point of pain. “You did the best you could. Your sister is not dead. Zachery knew where we were and he would have come to Sakamoto’s open house if that were true.”

“Gleesh, Iolanthe, you’re supposed to be smart and you say something idiotic like that?”

“Charlton! How do you know that Zachery isn’t going to tell us that Albion was run over by a trolley? Or that his creditors dragged him out of Orlov’s townhouse and broke his legs for non-payment? Those things could have happened.”

Charlton groaned. “Iolanthe. That would be _good_ news.”

“I must agree, my lady,” James the coachman offered.

He clucked his tongue and reined in the horses under a street lamp, spreading a pool of light over the dark cobbles. “Look. A new spy-eye, Master Charlton,” he said, oozing disapproval.

Charlton looked up. “So it is. Got the stones handy?”

“Always, Master Charlton.”

“Stones? A spy-eye? And why are we stopping in front of what looks like a seedy bar?” Iolanthe asked. “I don’t believe patronizing some disreputable, open-air tavern is going to help anything.” The nose-wrinkling smell of spilled alcohol and other, more personal liquids was strong, bringing up unpleasant memories of Orlov and the sot.

“Sure it will. _I’ll_ feel better.”

Charlton took several smooth, rounded stones from the box James produced from under his perch. He turned them over and over in his palm, judging their well-shaped, cool weight.

“Perfect,” he said and climbed down from the carriage.

“Risto! What you doing?” one of the bar patrons called out. “Come to drink with us?”

“No. I’m fixing this!” Charlton called back and positioned himself under the street light. He pointed upwards to a glowing red dot, making the bar patrons groan, glower, and swear using colorful language Iolanthe had never heard before although she could guess its meaning.

He wove both hands at the light —Iolanthe deduced it was an extremely obscene gesture based on how the bar patrons reacted — and shouted “I’m Charlton Ranaglia DelFino! Come and arrest me, you Olde Earthe sods!” Then he pitched a stone at the red light. The sound of breaking glass indicated a direct hit.

The bar patrons erupted with hoots and encouraging shouts to smash the spy-eye still further. Which he did, using the remaining stones. When Charlton ran out of stones, carefully managing each time to miss the actual street light, he climbed back into the carriage in triumph. The bar patrons approved, applauding and shouting. Passers-by applauded and cheered too.

“Home, James,” Charlton said as he bowed and waved to the crowd raising tankards toasting his achievement.

“What was that all about?” Iolanthe asked. “You destroyed public property in front of a crowd of witnesses. That can’t possibly help.”

“Yes, it did. I feel better and I helped everyone over at that bar,” Charlton replied. He shifted closer to her and put an arm around her. “That was a spy-eye.”

“So you said, but what is that?”

“A way for those Olde Earthe sods to spy on us all the time. They’re all over Barsoom and in other free-cities I’ve been, too. Internal Security and Barsoom police use them, supposedly to keep the peace but really, it’s because Olde Earthe wants to keep their boot on our necks. Those guys at the bar would be arrested for breaking it. _I_ can’t be arrested because I’m Four Hundred.”

“I’ve never seen one,” Iolanthe said.

“Because you’ve never had them pointed out,” Charlton replied. “I know they’re in Nourz. Dimitri told me. They’re not on demesnes, only in government corridors. When Dimitri and I are together, we walk around and smash every one that we see.” He grinned at her expression. “We’re performing our civic duty. Hellation, I’ve smashed spy-eyes with Walter! He’s got a better aim than I do. It’s damn hard to break just the spy-eye and not the light fixture too.”

“You know that if spy-eyes are everywhere, then perhaps one of them saw Lannie,” Iolanthe replied.

Charlton went sullen again. “No, they don’t use them for anything useful like solving crimes, just surveillance and dossiers on the citizens. Besides, as soon as a broken one gets replaced, someone smashes it.”

“While courting arrest?” Iolanthe asked dryly.

“Only the Four Hundred can risk facing a spy-eye head on. Everyone else comes in from the side with a slingshot.” He heaved a deep sigh. “I looked for spy-eyes and they were all broken. I know Dimitri did the same. So do the footmen and the grooms. All broken, so no record of my sister.”

“But if people didn’t break them —,” Iolanthe began.

“I won’t leave them unbroken,” Charlton interrupted her. “I love my sister and yeah, I sacrificed her to save my estates and I screwed up and I’m going to pay for that mistake for the rest of my life starting with explaining to my mother how I got my sister murdered. But I would sacrifice a lot more to keep Olde Earthe’s boots off my planet, the rapacious, bloodsucking bastards.”

He turned suddenly, facing her. “Wouldn’t you? Or do you want to be their slave?”

“No. I don’t. Do ladies smash them?”

“Some do. I taught Lannie. She’s a good shot. I’d be surprised if Ulla doesn’t smash them too.”

“Teach me,” Iolanthe said, thinking of fragile, silver-winged moths dancing in the moonlight over cereus blossoms and how easily they could be caught and crushed into silvery pulp and spangled dust. “And listen to me when I say that your sister isn’t dead. We cannot lose hope. If we give up and lose hope, your father wins. The sot wins.” She squeezed his hand. “Olde Earthe wins,” she added softly.

* * *

“I got the daimyo calmed down and in bed,” Dimitri said to Albion. Matsuda hovered in the background, a silent witness. “Get me the information about private security firms. I need to review what you find and then start interviewing candidates tomorrow.”

Albion lounged in the heavily padded chair, studied his fingernails and began buffing them on his jacket front.

“I suppose you’ll pass this information on to my worthless son or my ungrateful daimyo? They might want to know my dear Yilanda’s whereabouts.”

Dimitri moved forward, until Albion pressed himself back against the upholstery, trapped and unable to escape.

“They might,” Dimitri hissed as he loomed over his unwanted houseguest, directly into Albion’s face. “Just as your creditors might want to know if I choose to throw you out. You are hiding in Orlov’s townhouse, on Orlov’s sufferance, while Orlov pays your upkeep. You have no other place to go. No one will accept you into their home. Yes, having you would make it easier to work with a private security firm. But as you said, they work for hire and they don’t care who they work for, or for what reason, as long as they get paid. _Orlov_ is paying the bill, not you.”

“I do appreciate knowing where I stand,” Albion said smoothly, trying for the correct smile of weary acquiescence. Dimitri was close enough to bite his nose off.

“I hope so,” Dimitri replied and his expression could have been Rastislav’s. “You recall the open house at Sakamoto? The daimyo of Goryonov himself told me that he has certain business associates who are patiently waiting to collect you. The minute I choose to throw you out.”

Albion paled and began to sweat, despite the coolness of the evening. While never publicly discussed, it was well known that the demesne of Goryonov — immense, powerful, wealthy, amoral even by the standards of the Four Hundred, one of the four great powers surrounding Barsoom — had unsavory underworld connections whose tentacles stretched far and wide. All the way to Panschin, in fact.

“I did not know he spoke to you,” Albion managed to say. He cringed even further back into the upholstery. He hadn’t known Goryonov attended the Sakamoto open house or he would have refused to set foot outside of Orlov’s own townhouse. It had been a long time since he was last welcome in that demesne.

“Now you do. One word about the Pearls of Orlov to anyone and you’ll meet Goryonov’s business associates.”

* * *

Grimaldi must have been waiting at the front door.

As soon as the carriage pulled up, he opened the door, spilling light out onto the dimly lit street.

“This is going to be bad,” Charlton muttered, staring at Grimaldi’s wooden face.

“This may not be about Lannie,” Iolanthe reassured him. She did not argue when he swept her up, although she could have climbed the steps leading to the front door. Letting Charlton carry her cost her nothing, other than loss of dignity, whereas he got to feel he was taking care of her.

“Yeah. Maybe mama died, even though Ulla told Cook and the maids about Mistress Vaughn’s poisoned tisanes.”

“We don’t know,” Iolanthe said, striving to sound reassuring. Unfortunately, Charlton had thought of the most likely alternative to the discovery of Lannie’s body.

“This way, sir. The daimyo is awaiting you in the drawing room,” Grimaldi said. “Tea and brandy are at hand.”

“Oh Gods,” Charlton whispered as he started marching up the stairs.

Another carriage pulled up behind them and the sound of horses and chatter stopped him halfway.

“Is it necessary for you to show off your muscles to everyone on the street, Charlton?” auntie Ottilie asked loudly. “You are behaving like a member of the labor castes.”

“Ignore Lady Ottilie’s rudeness,” Charlton said equally loudly. “Iolanthe, she’s DelFino’s matchmaker.”

“How nice to meet you,” Iolanthe called down and waved cheerily. “Ulla. You’re back early.”

“Now, sir,” Grimaldi intoned. “The daimyo is waiting.”

“Great,” Charlton muttered and with Iolanthe in his arms, followed the stiff-backed butler through the house to the drawing room.

He did not set her down and she did not ask. Ulla and aunt Ottilie followed them, Ottilie looking purse-faced and Ulla looking nervous and agitated. Iolanthe spared a moment to wonder what bad news _they_ had to deliver, since they did not flee at once to the privacy of locked bedchambers as any sensible person would.

Despite his obvious impatience, the daimyo of DelFino was gracious enough to wait until Charlton got Iolanthe seated on the low sofa. He did not wait for tea or brandy to be served.

“Charlton,” Zachery said. “You must return to your estates at once. My secretary has made the travel arrangements. You leave in the morning after breakfast.”

Charlton leaped up from his position on the sofa. “My sister! Where is my sister?”

“I have no idea and neither does anyone else,” Zachery said. “We have yet to find a body so she may still be alive. She no longer matters.”

“I can’t leave Barsoom with my sister missing,” Charlton protested. “Is it my mother?”

“No. It’s your village. Mistress Vaughn, the apothecary, apparently realized her crimes had been discovered. She set fire to her cottage, her shop, the village hall, the pub, the church, and several other buildings in an attempt to escape in the tumult. Her final fire moved more quickly than she anticipated and burning thatch from the roof of the church collapsed on her. She’s badly burned and not expected to live.”

Zachery stopped to give Charlton time to understand. “Much of your village is damaged, some buildings beyond repair.”

“Anyone else?” Charlton asked. He fell back onto the low sofa. He looked like he’d been poleaxed. Iolanthe moved closer to him, the only comfort she could give.

“Oh yes. Several deaths; it was nighttime so your peasants were asleep. Many injuries. You must return.”

“But my sister —,” Charlton said.

“— is _gone_. You have over one hundred people depending on you. Do your peasants mean nothing to you? If so, I will assign someone else to your estates, someone who cares.”

“Someone like me,” Walter said. He had been lounging in the shadowed corner, quiet and unnoticed. “I would like to take over, especially since I will not inherit estates of my own to pass down to my future sons.” He winced as he sat up, moving with the stiffness of an old man.

“There are many in the family who are capable enough and who would appreciate the gift,” Zachery said coldly, dismissing his son without so much as a glance. “Not every line in DelFino is fortunate enough to control hereditary, arable land with a functioning village. Someone in one of those lines would welcome your village and your estates as opposed to spending five generations dragging thousands of hectares of raw, isolated steppes into civilized, productive land.”

“My mother?” Charlton asked slowly.

“Apparently unharmed and slowly recovering from her poisoning. The fire did not spread to your manor house. A pity really,” Zachery said, “since it could only be improved by burning it to the ground and rebuilding. Ulla’s father and your village headman are doing what they can.”

Ulla spoke for the first time. “How could Mistress Vaughn set that many fires without help? I know thatch can burn but it rained a few days before we left.”

“She is a skilled apothecary, Ulla,” Zachery replied. The word ‘moron’ hung in the air. “She keeps large quantities of distilled pure alcohol on hand for her tinctures. Alcohol burns well, especially when spread about liberally. Moreover, the thatch in the village had been poorly maintained for decades.”

“My father gambled away the coin you gave him for rethatching,” Charlton said. He stared at the opposite wall in shock.

“Yes, he did. And his leman made sure that those peasants of yours are punished still further for having the misfortune of belonging to your line.”

“You said injuries?” Charlton asked. Iolanthe caught his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Many. Smoke inhalation and burns incurred saving the village. Those peasants and their children may recover. What made it worse is that she was able to burn your granary.”

“Oh Gods,” Charlton whispered. “My harvest. Anything else?”

“I have an extensive list.”

“Oh Gods,” Charlton said again.

“Moving on,” Zachery said implacably. “I was also informed about your insult to Sakamoto. It will take me months to repair that damage.”

“They’re vicious, lying sods,” Charlton said, energized. “We have no business dealings with them and we shouldn’t.”

“We have none _currently_ , and I am surprised you knew. However, I have plans for the markets to the east. I am capable of doing business with daimyos whom I dislike, such as Kenzig Sakamoto.”

The daimyo turned his attention away from Charlton and Iolanthe.

“Ulla. I am deeply disappointed over your behavior during your meeting with my nephews, Andreas and Harcourt. I want Keerkehgard techniques for improving timber production and you have managed, singlehandedly, to destroy that route.”

“I will never marry either of those abusive, vicious sods,” Ulla said. “Auntie Ottilie was correct about them and you should have listened to her, just like you should have asked her about Albion’s plans for Lannie.”

“She knew about that?” Charlton asked, momentarily distracted.

“I did,” Ottilie said, looking down her nose at him. “I would have warned Zachery that Yilanda was completely unsuited for the daimyo of Orlov. Ulla might have managed him. Might. But we shall never know, shall we?”

“Zachery,” Charlton asked icily. “Why do you have aunt Ottilie act as matchmaker if you don’t ask her advice?”

“I have a bigger picture in mind for DelFino than Ottilie sees,” Zachery said. “Are you leaving for your estates in the morning?”

Charlton looked all around the room, trapped. “Yes, sir,” he said sullenly. “With my wife, if she’ll go with me.”

“I certainly will,” Iolanthe said promptly. “I will not abandon you.”

“You’re the Orlov girl?” Ottilie asked. “Hmm. Plain, lame, and cast out by Orlov as I was told. No dowry?”

“No, my lady,” Iolanthe said.

“She is her own dowry,” Charlton said angrily. “Can’t you see her worth?”

“No,” Ottilie said. “When you tire of her, I’ll arrange for a merchant’s daughter with a dowry you can spend to rebuild your estates.”

“Ottilie is correct,” Zachery said. “Iolanthe brings nothing to DelFino, unlike say, Naomi Khan marrying Walter and bringing access all the way to Easternmost.”

Ottilie went rigid. “You made arrangements between Naomi Khan and Walter?”

“Yes.” Zachery, Walter, Ulla, Charlton, and Iolanthe answered with one voice although with differing thoughts.

“Quiet, children,” Ottilie commanded. “Grownups talking.” She smiled coolly at Zachery. “I know you didn’t ask my opinion about this match either, but I’ll give it to you anyway. Naomi Khan is the most beautiful girl in her quad, supremely well-connected and equally well-dowered. You made a stellar match, Zachery, and all by yourself too.”

The daimyo of DelFino preened under Ottilie’s gaze.

“In fact,” Ottilie continued, “I must make a prediction. Walter and Naomi Khan are far enough apart in consanguinity that you will enjoy a multitude of grandchildren and much sooner than you hope. Their union may be blessed within weeks, assuming Walter is able to do his part.”

She smiled her reptilian smile while Walter protested, “Hey!”

Iolanthe, Ulla, and Charlton sensibly said nothing, other than nod wide-eyed in agreement and exchange glances.

“Thank you, Ottilie,” Zachery said. “But we cannot make predictions about grandchildren.”

“Oh, I have good feelings about the fertility of this match,” Ottilie replied. “Despite not being asked for my input.”

She stood. “I must go. I have letters to write as does Ulla. Iolanthe, stand so I can get a better look at you before I leave.”

“Yes, my lady,” Iolanthe said. Charlton helped her to her feet.

“Do you want me to open my mouth so you can examine my teeth?” she asked while Ottilie gave her a good looking over.

“Hmm. Smart-mouthed as well as plain, lame, and penniless. Will you be able to bear children with that twisted hip? I am assuming that Charlton is capable of doing his part, despite your lack of looks.”

Iolanthe repressed the urge to cringe in humiliation. “Yes, my lady,” she said, standing proudly. All that practice of not showing emotion in front of the sot was once again coming in handy. “Auntie Bettina, our head of medicine at Orlov, the doctors in Nourz, and my acupuncturist all agree. I should be fine.”

“Don’t insult my wife,” Charlton growled.

“The production of heirs is always one of my top concerns. Keep my offer in mind, Charlton. You and your peasants need money more than you need to rescue some damsel in distress.”

Ottilie curtsied gracefully and graciously to the daimyo of DelFino, ignored everyone else, and glided from the room.

“I must go and write letters, my lord Zachery,” Ulla said, seizing her chance of escape. “Charlton, Iolanthe, I’ll stay in Barsoom and keep looking for Lannie. I’ve alerted Ranaglia but they’ve haven’t seen or heard from her. I’m so sorry.”

“Charlton?” Walter said hoarsely. His bruises were deepening in color and his nose was swollen under the bandages. “I’ll look for Lannie too, while I prepare for Naomi Khan’s arrival. I’ll have the footmen and grooms continue to search as well.” He threw his father an angry, resentful glare. “Unlike other people, I haven’t given up.”

“That’s surprisingly decent of you, Walter,” Charlton said and squeezed Iolanthe’s hand. “As for you, my lord Zachery. We’ll leave in the morning and save my peasants. In the meantime, we need to talk about what I have to do to save them.”


	29. Not a baby’s fault it’s born into a vicious family like DelFino

Fen trudged along, leading Coppertail, with Lannie on the gelding’s other side. With each tired step, he prayed they were further north, that Coppertail would recover, and that he could find some shelter for the night. The answer was always ‘no’. He didn’t like the crowds, the sideways glances, Lannie being alone on Coppertail’s other side where he couldn’t quickly reach her, and he really didn’t like the sudden shift in the wind, teasing and unsettling.

Lannie had insisted on using the waystation’s facilities for women while he got Coppertail water and rinsed and refilled the waterskins.

“You were right,” she muttered on her return. She looked nauseous and refused to comment further. She walked patiently and uncomplaining, stumbling more and more often. She looked exhausted and he still hadn’t spotted a break between the buildings offering a vista of clean, empty, free grasslands stretching to the horizon. Anything would do by this point, as long as it wasn’t close to the Pole-To-Pole road. Sadly, other travelers had the same idea as evidenced by plenty of warning signs, fences, walls, heavy locks, chains, and barred gates lining the road.

The locals made it plain they didn’t want trespassers sleeping under their hedges, in their outbuildings, or on their front stoops. They expected travelers to stay in the waystations, where they belonged, or pay for better accommodations. There were signs for that too, all requiring coin Fen was hoarding for more dire emergencies.

Lannie yawned suddenly and hugely, then stumbled again.

“We’re taking the next side street,” Fen announced.

“Is there a place?” Lannie asked anxiously.

“I’ll find one.”

Coppertail was walking more easily, lifting his hoofs higher. The break at the waystation, fresh water, and not carrying the both of them had rejuvenated him, at least a little. Fen listened to Lannie plod along, barely lifting her feet from the sound.

“You’re riding Coppertail.”

“What?”

“I’ll help you up.”

“But you said he’s tired,” Lannie mumbled.

“He is, but you’re lighter than I am and we’ll move faster.”

“Okay,” Lannie said, not knowing what else to say.

With Lannie mounted on Coppertail, they did move faster. Fen felt more comfortable knowing some slaver couldn’t grab Lannie and disappear into the crowd. Something happening like that was, he was willing to admit, extremely unlikely. He hadn’t seen any slavers during the journey, despite the lurid stories he’d been told farther north. Even closemouthed Pello shared a cautionary tale. He’d been told more gruesome stories at the livery stable. But not seeing slavers didn’t mean there weren’t any. It wasn’t like someone in that business would be _obvious_ about snatching victims from the roadways and dragging them off in shackles to equator plantations. He was also still too sore to fight them off. Damn Charlton and Walter DelFino and their entire damn risto family, other than the babes in arms.

He’d forgive the DelFino babies, but not anyone else.

* * *

“No coin,” Charlton said resentfully. “Not even the loan of a bent copper penny?”

“No,” Zachery replied. “In my and my predecessor’s experience, no one in your line is capable of repaying a loan. I want to see your efforts, using your resources, before I commit any DelFino coin to rebuilding your estates. I do not have coin to spare.”

“Sure you don’t. Is there any assistance you can give me as I rebuild?”

“I don’t know. It will depend on the reports I receive and what you do.”

“Zachery, please,” Charlton said, lifting his face from his hands. “At least send some medics. Mistress Vaughn was all we had and even if she hadn’t been burned almost to death, no one would trust her anymore.”

“I will think on it,” the daimyo of DelFino said.

“I am sorry to say, my lord Zachery,” Iolanthe said, breaking the angry silence and commenting for the first time, “but you sounded rather like the sot at that moment. Rastislav liked to say he would think about it so he could watch his victim twist in the wind, alternating between hope and despair. I know that’s an unkind comparison to a noble gentleman such as yourself and I do apologize, but the memory leaped up of when the sot refused to assist one of our villages after dreadful flooding. The village headman was prostrate upon the carpet, weeping in front of the entire family as he begged for aid.”

“How dare you speak to me in this manner,” Zachery said coldly.

“You sound just like the sot,” Iolanthe replied. She began fanning herself. “Do forgive me. Such dreadful memories. It’s so difficult to explain to sane people such as yourself how badly managed Orlov is. Papa and Uncle Ljubo and Morley work so hard to counteract the sot’s willful damage of the demesne. He simply doesn’t care what happens to our family or our serfs.”

Walter had been reclining on his own low sofa, sipping the same medicinal tea Iolanthe was drinking. “She’s not wrong, dad,” he said, also joining the painful discussion for the first time. “That land is DelFino and those peasants, whoever they end up belonging to, are still DelFino’s responsibility.”

“Much as it pains me to agree with him, Walter is right,” Charlton said. “So is Iolanthe. We are DelFino, not Orlov.” He sighed deeply. “Send me what you can and we’ll make do.”

“If I see improvements, I will reevaluate my position,” Zachery said. “Ulla’s father, Jorge, is capable. I will rely on his reports. In the meantime, remember what Ottilie said. She can find you a merchant’s daughter with a dowry.”

Charlton jumped to his feet. “I am already married,” he snarled. “Not formally; I know. I’ll take care of that as soon as Iolanthe and I arrive in my village and wed properly in front of my peasants.” His anger drained away and he slumped back onto the sofa; turning to her and taking her hands in his.

“I can’t offer you anything but myself and my ruined estates. I’m sorry. This isn’t what I’d planned for us,” he said, gazing into her brown eyes.

Iolanthe smiled wistfully at him. “You’re giving me everything I’ve ever wanted. I can manage a castle and we’ll manage.” Not everything, she thought, but far more than she’d expected when she got off the train in Barsoom the day before.

* * *

Ulla was waiting for them in the hallway. She was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall, with a traveling desk perched on her lap and a stack of stationary at one side, finished letters on the other.

“Charlton,” she said not giving them a chance to speak. “I’ve got to steal Iolanthe while you talk to Grimaldi.”

Grimaldi appeared and bowed. “There is another matter requiring your attention, Master Charlton. And one for Miss Iolanthe.”

“More?” Charlton asked. “Tell me no one died and I won’t have to spend more coin I don’t have.”

“No one died and this is affordable, sir.”

“Iolanthe, we’ll talk in the morning room. It’s empty,” Ulla said. She got up easily from the floor, picking up the traveling desk and her letters as Iolanthe watched and thought of how pleasant it would be to sit on the floor and get up again without having to make a production number of it, involving canes and servants and pillows and ridiculous, undignified positions.

“Is this necessary?” Charlton asked.

“Sure is,” Ulla said. “I’m not going with you to your estates. I have to remain in Barsoom and look for Lannie. I need to let Iolanthe know what to expect.”

Iolanthe forced out a smile. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I was taught how to manage a castle.” Damn, damn, damn. Would she always be underestimated because of her lameness?

“Good. Then you’re not starting from zero like Lannie. I need to warn you about Cook.”

Charlton grimaced and recoiled. “Her.”

Walter staggered through the drawing room door, caught the conversation, and flinched. “Gleesh. Cook. She’ll eat you up alive and pick her teeth with your fingerbones.”

“That seems overly dramatic,” Iolanthe said.

“Hah!”

“You don’t know that woman.”

“Woman? A demon in disguise.”

“She tried to kill me.”

“You too?”

“She used that cleaver of hers. The one she uses to split whole pigs in two.”

“Oh yeah. The door jambs and the walls are all torn up from when she throws it.”

“It’s not safe to enter that kitchen without a bodyguard.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but you don’t enter _her_ territory without knocking and begging for permission and having a damn good reason for bugging Cook that _she_ thinks is important.”

“I see,” said Iolanthe. “Cook may be a problem for me?”

“Oh yeah.”

“No question.”

“It’s been nice knowing you.”

“I have extensive experience dealing with the sot,” Iolanthe said. “Cook cannot be worse.”

“I dunno.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“The sot doesn’t do the cooking so he doesn’t have regular opportunities to poison the entire household.”

“Thank you for the warnings,” Iolanthe said. “I will be careful. Grimaldi, you had something for me?”

“And Master Charlton, Miss Iolanthe,” the butler replied patiently. “My lady, Susan, the maid who has been assisting you since your arrival asked if you would like her to accompany you to Master Charlton’s estates. She would like to move up to the position of lady’s maid. She is a good choice and I believe you will be pleased with her services.”

“That would be lovely,” Iolanthe said. “I do need assistance from time to time.” Susan would be a far better choice than that faithless, thieving Nelly had turned out to be. Susan was skilled with a needle, too, something she’d need to turn the clothes Nelly destroyed back into wearable garments.

“Excellent choice,” Ulla said, chagrinned because Grimaldi thought of Iolanthe’s obvious need for a lady’s maid before she had. There was something else, though, that no one had considered. “When we’re done in the morning room, you, me, and Susan will go through the closets so you’ve got something to wear. There’s plenty of clothes so no need to worry about taking someone’s best dress. The townhouse closets are for overflow, duplicates, out-of-date, unsuitable for anywhere else but Barsoom, and stuff that no one wants to haul back home.”

“That would explain the immense range in fashion choices, styles, and sizes,” Iolanthe commented. “The closets are like a department store.”

“And me, Grimaldi?” Charlton asked warily.

“Albion’s valet arrived at our doors while you were speaking with the daimyo,” Grimaldi said. “Terrence is begging for asylum and a chance to return home. He will become your fulltime valet.” Grimaldi eyed Charlton disapprovingly, managing to state without a single word how disheveled he looked. “I recommend you approve his request.”

“Let me talk to him first,” Charlton said. “I don’t need my dad’s spy in my household. Get him in here.”

* * *

Terrence bowed low, almost scraping the floor, as he came through the door.

“Quit that,” Charlton said. “I’m not my dad.”

“And grateful I am for it,” Terrence replied. “I want to go home, sir. I don’t want to stay dancing attendance on that man anymore.”

“Not very loyal, are you,” Charlton said. “How do I know you won’t report what I do to my dad?”

Terrence frowned at the floor. “He doesn’t actually care, sir. Perhaps about Lady Constance but I wouldn’t bet money on it now that’s she’s gotten older.”

“That sounds like him,” Charlton said wearily. “My estates are in ruins. Let me fill you in on what you’ll be stepping into.”

When he finished, Charlton asked, “still interested? And I want to know why. You’ll be doing a hell of a lot more work than keeping me shaved and my clothes tidy.”

Terrence stared at the floor for long, long moments.

“Is Cook all right?”

“Huh?”

“Cook! Is she all right, my lord?”

“Yeah,” Charlton said, bemused. “The manor house didn’t suffer any damages other than it’s falling down around our ears but you already know that.”

“I stayed with your father only because he swore to me that I could court Cook. He wouldn’t let us marry. He said it would distract me from my duties to him. I want to go home to my Cook,” Terrence said. “Please sir. I understand why you may not believe me. Your father wouldn’t permit me to take care of you as I should have.”

“That’s not the part I don’t believe!” Charlton exclaimed. “My dad never liked to share. But Cook? You want to marry Cook?”

Terrence smiled joyfully up at the ceiling; his hands clasped. “The sweetest woman ever made. I miss her so when I must travel with your father.”

Charlton managed to close his mouth, as did Ulla and Walter.

“Okay then,” Charlton said. “You can return with us but I demand you marry Cook within the week. You’ll also be working nonstop, like the rest of us, trying to save my corner of DelFino, including in the stables and the fields as needed.”

“My deepest thanks, my lord Charlton,” Terrence answered, beaming as though he’d opened a long-forgotten box and discovered the Pearls of Orlov. “Cook and I will name our firstborn son after you. I’ll start packing for our return home at once.”

“Right,” Charlton said.

Once Terrence skipped upstairs, Walter said, “Gleesh. Cook. I guess there really is someone for everyone.” He looked appalled.

“Good thinking, Charlton,” Ulla said. “If that was all a lie, Cook will punish Terrence far better than you ever could. Yeek.” She made gagging motions.

“Yeah,” Charlton said. “As long as she doesn’t poison the family in retaliation for my foisting Terrence on her. But I need every warm body I can get to begin rebuilding and I can’t afford to be fussy.”

“It could be true,” Iolanthe said.

Everyone else gave her pitying looks, interspersed with sniggers and gasps of horror.

“Ulla, did you have anything else besides warning me about Cook?” Iolanthe said with an inward sigh.

“Yes, plenty. The morning room is close and private.”

“Iolanthe? You go with Ulla.” Charlton leaned in for a kiss. “Walter and I need to talk more with the daimyo.”

* * *

“I don’t like you, Walter. I don’t trust you.” Charlton sighed wearily. They were in the daimyo’s office, maps of Charlton’s estates spread out on the large table.

“Then why are you asking my son for his assistance?” Zachery asked, from his position behind his huge mahogany desk.

“Because Walter is already skilled at managing an estate,” Charlton replied, running his fingers across the map of the village where he had marked X’s on the ruined buildings. “I learned a lot from him, everything I should have learned from my dad and didn’t. Walter also knows something about my estates from working on them with me for weeks. I _do_ trust Walter to do what’s right for him and right for DelFino, even if I don’t trust what he planned for my sister.”

“I only hoped to save her from Rastislav,” Walter lied. “I’d been planning her rescue for weeks; once I realized that no one else gave a damn about her wellbeing if it meant access to markets all the way to Easternmost.” He shot a glare at his father who ignored it. “I didn’t know you and Dimitri Orlov were planning a rescue. Unfortunately, that tacky yellow ballgown worked better than I expected. Everyone looked for the dress and not Lannie and now, she’s, well —” Walter stopped abruptly.

“She’s lost.”

He stared at his bruised hands, then met Charlton’s hard gaze. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“If you can find my sister, and you don’t harm her, I can manage to forgive you,” Charlton said.

“I would never harm Lannie,” Walter said sincerely. And he wouldn’t. Lannie would be so sweet and adoring and grateful and he would take great pains to please her. If she was still alive. Damn Rastislav for changing the schedule. Lannie was gone and the Pearls of Orlov vanished along with her. He wondered if she still had them. If anyone discovered she was carrying them, the Pearls were as good as gone and Lannie was dead meat. He restrained himself from touching his breast pocket where the stolen bracelet nestled against his heart. Perhaps he would give it as a wedding gift to Naomi Khan.

“So. Suggestions as to where I should start?” Charlton asked. “I thought salvaging the harvest in the granary.”

“Yeah, I’d pick that too,” Walter said, leaning carefully over the map to study the fields and orchards. He still ached all over from that damned stablehand’s drubbing, his nose hurt with every breath, but the pain was eased considerably by having that worthless black sheep of a DelFino affirm his own worth in front of the daimyo. “Everyone has to eat and if your peasants don’t eat, they can’t work and what you’ve got growing in your fields now may be lost.”

* * *

Ulla waited impatiently as Iolanthe settled herself. As soon as she had done so, Ulla said, “don’t trust Walter.”

“I don’t plan on it,” Iolanthe replied.

“Good. Walter will always do what’s right for him and I believe he’ll do what’s right for DelFino, but after that, I just don’t know anymore. I thought I did,” Ulla said, pacing nervously around the morning room. “I was wrong. I keep being wrong. I can’t believe what’s been happening. It’s just been one damn thing after another, ending with that awful dinner with Andreas and Harcourt and then to hear that Mistress Vaughn torched Charlton’s village was like rancid sherbet on top of stale cake.”

“What happened with your dinner with those two idiots?” Iolanthe asked. Gracious, but Ulla needed to work on her metaphors along with her tact. She had no imagination at all.

“Do you know them?” Ulla said in surprise.

“We met at the livery stable this morning,” Iolanthe said and dove into the incident.

* * *

Eventually, they finished working out what Iolanthe had to do at Charlton’s estates and what Ulla needed to do in Barsoom.

“And one last thing,” Iolanthe added. “I’ll have auntie Avery at Orlov write to you at once about tree management. She oversees our forestry efforts and since Orlov is hot zone like DelFino, her information will be far more useful than anything those Keerkehgard cretins could provide.”

“Thank you,” Ulla said. Then, to Iolanthe’s surprise, Ulla added wistfully, “I wish you could stay longer. I know you have to leave because of what Mistress Vaughn did. It’s just that I don’t have many friends in the family and I think we could be friends. I was getting to be friends with Lannie and I tried so hard to save her and I failed and all I can think about is her dying in some filthy alley in Barsoom because I failed her. I don’t want to fail you too.”

“You won’t,” Iolanthe said, clasping Ulla’s hands. “You did the very best you could under impossible circumstances. We’ll find Lannie, we’ll save Charlton’s peasants, and we’ll find the Pearls and save Orlov’s serfs.”

Ulla pulled her hands free and began nervously pacing the room again. “I’m missing something important. I know I am but I can’t think of it. We all are.” She groaned. “Tomorrow will be a new day. A good night’s sleep and maybe the answer will come to me as to what I’m doing wrong in our search for Lannie.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will. Tomorrow has to be a calmer day,” Iolanthe said and giggled suddenly. “All we have to do is get to the train station on time.”

* * *

The morning dawned bright and clear, the clouds from the overnight storm peeling back to reveal a rain-soaked world.

“Gracious,” Iolanthe said, peering out through the drapes at the gleaming wet streets. “I hope Lannie found shelter. She would have been soaked.”

“I know.” Charlton sighed and got up to join her at the window. “I’ll have to tell mama my sister may be lost to us forever.”

“You haven’t written to her yet?” Ulla asked. She was sitting at the table, her breakfast untouched.

“No, Ulla, I haven’t,” Charlton snapped. The phrase ‘inconsiderate moron’ hovered in the air. “I can’t deliver news like that in a letter.”

“Charlton is quite correct, Ulla. You should know how we do things in DelFino,” aunt Ottilie purred.

Chastened, Ulla stared down at her plate; it was heaped with freshly made toast slathered with wintenberry jam, eggs poached to the exact degree she preferred, thinly sliced and frizzled ham, fried plantains, and guava slices. The bounty made her agonize over what Lannie was eating, soaking wet and huddled in some doorway. She dutifully ate her breakfast anyway — every bitter mouthful — knowing she needed to eat.

The door opened and Walter staggered in. He was moving more easily than the evening before; an arthritic middle-aged man instead of a gray-haired, crippled elder.

“You’re up early, Walter,” Zachery said, lowering his newspaper with a sigh. The society page gossip columns had dueling, shrieking stories about Ulla DelFino and the Keerkehgard boys and Charlton and Iolanthe DelFino at Sakamoto’s open house.

“Charlton and I don’t get along, but that doesn’t mean I have to be rude on his last day in Barsoom,” Walter said.

“How thoughtful of you, Walter,” Iolanthe chirped when it became obvious no one else was going to reward Walter for behaving as he should.

“I wrote to my cousin, Akins, in Keerkehgard that you’re looking forward to the horse he trains for you,” Walter said.

Iolanthe spread her hands on the table — no longer as self-conscious of her twisted hand — and beamed. “A horse of my own. I never dreamed it would be possible. Do you think it will take long?”

“I have no idea. He has to locate a gentle, well-tempered filly and that may take some time. Then the training will take more. I sent Akins your address so he can keep you posted on his progress.”

“How exciting.” Iolanthe stroked Charlton’s arm, turning his sulky expression to a more friendly one. “We can ride together. If we go slow.”

He gazed into her face, lost in her luminous dark eyes. “I’d like that. Maybe I can talk Zachery into giving me a riding horse.”

Zachery retreated behind his newspaper.

“I can spare two of mine,” Walter said, casting an annoyed glance at his father. “You have the stables available and you need a horse to cover ground more quickly while you put things back together.”

“That’s decent of you, Walter,” Charlton said.

“Yes, it is, Walter,” Ottilie said. “You and Naomi Khan are made for each other.” She laid down her own newspaper where she had been reading the society columns. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. What a lurid, poorly reported story about your meeting with Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard. One would think, Ulla, that you were at fault instead of those vile, insulting boys.”

“They are not vile,” Zachery said. “They are my nephews and Walter’s first cousins.”

“A close familial relationship does not mean that a person has good character, my lord,” Ottilie purred. “Behavior demonstrates character.” She sipped her muddy coffee, her eyes boring into his face.

“I have to agree with auntie Ottilie, dad,” Walter said.

“Yeah,” Charlton said.

“Indeed,” Iolanthe said.

“She is not wrong,” Ulla added.

Zachery frowned at the shrieking headlines in the newspaper rather than see the disapproving faces of his relatives. He swallowed a sharp retort, forcing himself to accept that if he wanted information from the family, he had to tolerate painful feedback as well as pleasant. He thought of the Winter Solstice election nearing inexorably closer as each day passed. How he handled Charlton and the disaster in his village might determine how the family voted at the end of the year. Charlton and Walter were both correct: the land and the peasants belonged to DelFino and could not be cast aside merely because he despised what Albion and Albion’s father had become.

This was a bellwether: Walter, Charlton, Ulla, and even Iolanthe agreeing with Ottilie, who, despite her competence, was cordially disliked within DelFino. Iolanthe might be trying to be polite, but she had already demonstrated a sharp tongue and a sharper mind. However, he knew his own son, Ulla, and even Charlton well enough to know they would either go out of their way to disagree with Ottilie or remain silent.

“You are correct, of course, Ottilie,” Zachery conceded. He’d have to investigate Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard and not rely on close family ties through his wife. Fortunately, he could start quickly. His secretary, his valet, and Grimaldi would, if asked, provide honest opinions. But only if he asked.

“Yes, I am. It is nice to see you properly shaven for a change, Charlton,” Ottilie said, turning her attention to a fresh victim. “Your new valet, I assume?”

“Yes, aunt Ottilie,” Charlton replied warily.

“Yet you’re wearing a patched bathrobe at the table, when everyone else is properly dressed. Even Iolanthe is better dressed, despite wearing someone else’s castoffs because she was unable to locate a loyal, competent lady’s maid in Orlov.”

“That was not her fault and I am wearing a bathrobe, Ottilie, because my new valet informs me that I have nothing suitable to wear and he has to wash and mend and iron in order for me to board the train without embarrassment.”

Ottilie studied the fussy ormolu clock ticking away on the mantelpiece. “Let us hope he has enough time for such an enormous task.”

* * *

Lannie huddled next to Fen under his scrap of tarp and wondered again why she had been crazy enough to run off with a scruffy stranger she’d met at a livery stable. The cold rain beat down on the tarp. At least their backs were against a wall and there was some roof overhang. Coppertail crowded next to them, trying hard to stay dryer under the eaves. She hoped he wouldn’t step on her. Fen had an arm around her, keeping her warm and he’d insisted she have most of the tarp so she was dryer than he was. He’d finally located, when she was so exhausted she was falling asleep on Coppertail, an outbuilding they could take shelter against. He’d gotten them settled and started setting a tiny fire when the wind suddenly blew up and then the rains arrived.

Lannie edged closer to Fen, hoping she’d fall asleep again despite the lightening sky and the approach of dawn. She’d been drifting uneasily in and out of unpleasant dreams. The previous night’s thicket, dark and scary as it was, was better than huddling next to a splintery wall on rocky, damp ground. It had been drier, smelled far better, and she’d been able to lie down. Fen had made tea, hot and soothing, over the tiny fire. Not this time.

He shifted next to her, awake again, and pulled her closer still and she let him. He was warm.

“Sorry, Lannie,” Fen muttered. “I misjudged the weather. I’d have found shelter quicker if I’d known it was going to rain. Damn DelFino to ten degrees of consanguinity. We had to get out of Barsoom quick and we just didn’t have time to waste.”

“You hate DelFino that much?” Lannie asked.

“All of them, except babes in arms. Not a baby’s fault it’s born into a vicious family like them. Orlov too.”

“Oh.”

Fen was distracted, both by Lannie’s odd lumpiness and by her not instantly agreeing with him. She was running from DelFino and Orlov. That’s why she’d approached him at the livery stable.

“I thought you hated DelFino?” he asked.

“Not _all_ of them,” Lannie mumbled. “Only Charlton and Walter.” She paused, thinking. “And … Albion.” Gleesh. She’d almost said daddy. “And Zachery. And everyone else who didn’t help me.”

Or pretended to help me like Ulla searching for a trousseau, which was completely out of character for Ulla but I don’t dare admit I’m part of the family so I can’t ask for your opinion, she thought. Why did Ulla think a trousseau would help her? And help mama? Now that Lannie had time to think about what had happened, that was a really strange thing for Ulla to do. Her cousin was intensely practical and running off just before a wedding to go last-minute shopping was wildly out of character. Just as out of character as Charlton insisting, repeatedly, in the face of all the evidence that she had nothing to worry about; Charlton who admitted he knew nothing about the Orlov harpy he had to marry, sight unseen, yet didn’t seem to care enough to make a huge fuss. And Dimitri Orlov insisting she had nothing to worry about and how did Charlton know him to begin with? Walter had said the same things. Strange.

She let her mind find a new path and began to wonder if they all said not to worry because they knew something she didn’t.

It was too late now. She’d never be forgiven for stealing the Pearls of Orlov. Even if she somehow managed to return them, she’d be severely punished. The image of the daimyo of Orlov draping her with pearls and whispering horrible, obscene suggestions arose. They’d give her to him and within minutes, she would welcome death.

“I’ll keep you safe, Lannie,” Fen whispered as he felt her shiver against him. “You got an idea where you want to go?”

“North,” Lannie said. “All the way to Northernmost.” Where I can hide from Orlov and DelFino while I figure out what to do next. I’ll never see mama again. I have to warn Charlton about what daddy did. Maybe my brother can save mama from dying because I can’t. But how can I warn Charlton? Or mama? She thought of how her father petted her mother with fine words and grand gestures while poisoning her. Charlton would believe her even if mama wouldn’t.

“Northernmost is a long way from here,” Fen said, swallowing dismay at her decision. “Months of travel on horseback. Gets too cold near to the pole to continue on horseback so you’ll have to take the train for the last section.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I can get you all the way to Darnay,” he offered.

“Is that close to Northernmost?” Lannie asked. Gleesh, but she sounded ignorant. At least she’d have time to figure out what to do.

“It will get you most of the way,” Fen answered. By the time they reached Darnay, he might be able to persuade Lannie to come with him to HighTower. They had weeks ahead of them giving plenty of time to talk about how wonderful HighTower and the Ennaretee was. Where the unmarried Hands and vaqueros would line up to court her within minutes of her arrival.

“Will it stop raining?”

Fen studied the shifting gray mass of clouds. The rain beat down steadily and yet the cloud cover was uneven in tone. The dark gray was streaked with lighter patches.

“I think it might. We don’t want to wait around for it to stop, though. Whoever owns this building might cause us trouble. Call the local police or take matters into their own hands and beat us up.”

“Oh.” Lannie thought of the Pearls, crammed in her coverall’s pockets. Anyone who saw them would want them, steal them, and harm her to get them. Maybe she should scatter them all over the road behind her, as long as Fen wasn’t looking. The wealth would be gone and so would the risk of being murdered on the spot, although Orlov would never believe her if they caught her. She wouldn’t have the gloriously lovely Pearls anymore, either.

“When should we leave?”

“Now. It’s getting light enough to travel.”

“In the rain?”

“It’ll stop and we’ll dry off when it does. We’ll have to walk, though. Coppertail needs more rest before he can carry us both.”

“Okay.”

She was agreeing. Maybe she’d agree to come home with him. Where she would meet someone else, someone capable and competent. Someone who wasn’t the runt of the litter.

* * *

Dimitri was waiting on the sidewalk outside the DelFino townhouse as Iolanthe, supported by Charlton, cautiously picked her way down the damp steps.

She beamed at her brother.

“Dimitri! I was afraid I wouldn’t see you before we left.”

“Grimaldi sent word to Matsuda. The sot is snoring away from too much alcohol. So is Albion.”

“My dad’s not a heavy drinker,” Charlton said.

“He is now. Nice to see you too. Taking good care of my sister?”

Charlton grinned. “I am making your sister very, very happy as often as possible.”

“Charlton!” Iolanthe said, mortified.

“Well, I am.” He leaned in and kissed her in front of everyone; Dimitri, the DelFino family, servants, and passersby in the street.

He wasn’t ashamed of her, Iolanthe thought again. He had told her when they’d retired for the night how proud he was of how politely she had disciplined the daimyo of DelFino. Zachery, Charlton believed, was reevaluating how valuable Iolanthe would be to DelFino. Charlton cared. He’d said no words of love to her, but he showed he cared very much, privately and publicly.

“Keep on being good to my sister,” Dimitri said. “Meanwhile I’ll be searching for yours. We of Orlov will be hiring a private security firm.”

“Do you need my help with that?” Ulla asked as she came down the steps.

Dimitri stared up at her. “Uh, no thank you. We’ll be fine. You’ll be searching on your own and I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

Ulla frowned. “Thoughtful of you.”

He’s thinking harpy right now, the dumb slobbo, she thought. She stifled her irritation. “I want to compare notes on a daily basis as to what your private security firm finds. I might notice something your private security firm misses.”

“Sure,” Dimitri said, trying hard for a positive expression. He was grateful all over again that he wasn’t the unlucky slobbo who would marry Ulla DelFino, competent and capable and pretty though she was.

“Charlton, I’ll keep looking too.” Walter said.

“I’ll be sending a medical team to your estates,” Zachery said from the doors flung wide to the streets. “They will arrive soon after you do.”

“So nice to see you finally being considerate of DelFino peasants, Zachery,” Ottilie said. She smiled her reptilian smile. “You’re Dimitri Orlov? Who is Orlov’s matchmaker? I want her information. Now. My card.” She strode down the steps and handed a card to Dimitri. He took it cautiously, like he was handling a tiny but very poisonous snake.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dimitri replied while Ottilie examined him from head to toe, finding fault as she went. Was this harpy closely related to Ulla? He stifled a shudder, thinking of what Ulla might turn into as she aged.

“Hey! You blubbery slob of a DelFino! You thought you could take the coward’s way out and run off?”

Everyone turned to the street.

“We are going to show you that nobody is disrespectful to Keerkehgard.” Andreas grinned and Harcourt looked more manic than ever.

Charlton groaned. “I don’t have time for cretins.”

“We have a train to catch,” Iolanthe said.

Ulla clenched her fists, looking for something to throw but she couldn’t lift the planters and both Zachery and Ottilie would be sure to complain if she did.

Walter smiled coolly.

James, the coachman, looked disapproving.

“Who are you?” Dimitri asked.

Ottilie turned to Zachery and said, “You wanted proof that your nephews are rude, vile, badly-behaved, unmarriageable, overgrown boys? I think you are about to receive it.”


	30. You’re not the fat lazy tub of lard I thought you were

“You will make time, you fat lardy slob,” Harcourt said, darting forward and then dancing back, always just out of range.

“Too many DelFinos have insulted Keerkehgard for us to walk away,” Andreas said coldly.

Charlton rolled his eyes, an uncharacteristic gesture for him. “My mother has been poisoned by my father, my estates are in ruins, my peasants are depending on me to keep them from starving, and my wife and I have a train to catch. Some other time, morons.”

“Your wife? Your wife?” Andreas guffawed. “You haven’t legally married her and even you aren’t stupid enough to marry a penniless castoff.”

“Do you make her wear a bag over her head?” Harcourt contributed with a snigger.

Iolanthe sucked in her breath and dug her fingernails into Charlton’s arm. She shouldn’t expect better from that pair. They were aching for a fight and being deliberately insulting, yet it still hurt.

Charlton looked at her fondly. “You know what? I am going to make time. If you’ll excuse me, my dear wife.” He lifted her veil and kissed her soundly on the steps in front of everyone.

“Dimitri,” he said. “Look out for my dear wife, would you? This won’t take long.”

Dimitri smirked and glanced over the Keerkehgard brothers. “This fight will last exactly as long as you want it to.”

Ulla took Iolanthe’s other side, wrapping an arm around her like a sister would. “I hope Charlton grinds those sodding little ponces into the cobblestones.”

“I must admit,” Iolanthe said, heartened still more by Ulla’s support, “I did want to see a match between Charlton and those two fools, but I had expected a less public venue. Gracious. Passersby are already stopping to watch.”

“Barsoom street theater in action,” Ulla said. “What could be more fun than watching members of the Four Hundred beat each other up? They’ll start taking bets in a few minutes.”

They watched as Charlton carefully removed his jacket.

“You’re undressing?” Andreas asked as Charlton tossed his jacket to Dimitri, who caught it neatly.

“I don’t have many good clothes, I can’t afford to replace what I’ve got, and my new valet spent hours making this presentable.”

Then Charlton stripped off his shirt, tossing it to Dimitri.

Andreas paled and his thoughts were plain. _You’re not the fat lazy tub of lard I thought you were_.

The growing mob got much more interested and vocal.

Harcourt said “You look like a labor caste. Who did your mother fuck again?”

“Shut up, Harcourt,” Andreas said.

Charlton smacked his fist into his palm and advanced a step. “You can still run away. But I really hope you don’t.”

From her superior vantage point at the top of the broad steps at the townhouse’s front doors, Ottilie said “Stars above us. I didn’t realize Charlton had a pelt over his muscles.”

“Yes,” Ulla breathed, mesmerized by the play of masculine muscles under skin, broad shoulders and deep chest.

“Hmm. I didn’t realize you liked chest hair on a man so much,” Ottilie purred as she took in Ulla’s intentness. She eyed Dimitri, noticing again his well-shaped body. “I shall make a note for future introductions. Dimitri, do you have a pelt?”

“No ma’am,” Dimitri replied promptly, cold with fear.

“Liar,” Iolanthe whispered to him. She thought of Cressida Khan pining for Dimitri. If he ever opened his eyes and his brain, he might appreciate her best friend. “But I won’t tell.”

“You’re going to run away from a fight, Andreas? Harcourt?” Walter called out from the top of the steps. “I’m positive no one in the closely watching crowd will think less of you or of Keerkehgard because of your fear of injury.”

He radiated sincerity and earnest good wishes for the wellbeing of his cousins along with carefully enunciating their names for the benefit of the intent mob.

Walter added “No one will call you cowards.”

Andreas stared up at his bruised and bandaged first cousin as enlightenment grew and he understood the trap he had voluntarily entered.

“No. They won’t.”

He lunged at Charlton, counting on speed and agility. His brother did the same. They never connected, but Charlton did.

Wham!

“Gracious,” Iolanthe commented. “I had no idea a fist smacking into flesh was so noisy or bloody.”

Crunch!

“It can be,” Dimitri said. “You can cover your eyes, if you like. Ooh, nice punch to the solar plexus.”

Ooof!

“Never.” Although Iolanthe gave the notion serious thought, seeing Andreas double over, gagging.

Splat!

“Not me either,” Ulla said. “Those mangy, flea-bitten monkeys deserve every minute of this beating. They were awful last night at Chez Gramscee. Look at Harcourt trying for Charlton’s back, the vicious sod.”

Pow!

A stranger from the hooting and cheering mob sidled up next to Ulla, a notepad and pencil in hand. “I’d heard that story, Miss DelFino. Care to tell me your side of the issue when the gentlemen are finished?”

“Who are you?”

“Let me make the introductions, Ulla,” Iolanthe said. “This is Thiago Gunderson of the _Barsoom Bugle_. Mr. Gunderson was so generous with his time when he met me and Charlton at the courthouse.”

Smack!

“Yes, I read that article,” Ulla said, returning her eyes to the violent, noisy brawl in the street. She recalled Ottilie’s admonishments about working on her social skills. “It was quite even-handed, I thought, and well-written. I’ll be happy to talk once Charlton finishes breaking Andreas and Harcourt into little pieces.”

Crunch!

“Of course, Miss DelFino,” Mr. Gunderson said. “And you, my lady Iolanthe. Would you reveal what happened at the Sakamoto open house?” While he spoke, his eyes remained fixed on the street and his pencil raced.

Slam!

“I’d be delighted,” Iolanthe said. “After Charlton finishes mopping the street with Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard. That’s who he’s beating into submission in case you didn’t get their names. Yeek.” She flinched. “That looked painful. Oh, don’t let me forget. They rudely accosted us at the livery stable while we were searching for Lannie.”

“Have you located her yet?”

Screech!

“No, I’m afraid not. Gracious. I didn’t know a leg could bend that way,” Iolanthe said, aghast.

“They don’t, my lady. Not without breaking.”

Snap!

Harcourt screamed like a peacock being murdered and collapsed to the ground.

“The referees won’t let us fight like that in the ring,” Dimitri observed. “Too much chance of permanent injuries. But when Harcourt tried to gouge out Charlton’s eyes with that knife, he made the rules go away.”

Bam!

“Dimitri, is this supposed to be fun?” Iolanthe asked.

Thud!

“Yes, and it’s good exercise, too,” her brother answered, intent on the action. “But I will admit that Andreas and Harcourt aren’t having fun, even though Charlton certainly is.”

Whack!

“Oh my word. Did Charlton knock out all of Andreas’s teeth? I didn’t know a mouth could bleed like that,” Iolanthe said.

“Good. Maybe not having any teeth will keep him from being so rude and unpleasant to everyone he meets,” Ulla spat. “He’ll have to keep his damn mouth shut.”

Wham!

“He still has most of his teeth,” Dimitri said. “Molars don’t get knocked out like front teeth do. A lot of that blood is coming from his nose.”

“You’ll be writing this up as well, Mr. Gunderson?” Iolanthe asked faintly. “It’s quite gruesome.”

“Yes, my lady,” the reporter said cheerfully, never taking his eyes off the action in the street while his pencil raced across his notebook. “A story like this sells heaps of newspapers. I should have brought an artist with me. We’d sell even more!”

“Oh no! Andreas has a knife too,” Iolanthe gasped.

Slap!

“Not anymore,” Dimitri said. “Nice work, Charlton!” To his sister he said “It’s tough to disarm an armed opponent if you’re afraid of getting slashed up and you’ve only got your fists.”

“Will he recover?” Iolanthe cried in horror, wide-eyed and hands covering her mouth.

Smack! Pow!

“I dunno,” Dimitri said. “Eventually? With good medical care and months of therapy?”

“She meant Charlton, you dumb slobbo,” Ulla said. “We don’t care if Andreas and Harcourt never walk again and have to pee with the aid of a straw.”

Dimitri winced. “Charlton, despite the damage you see him inflicting, did not hit either of them in the groin.”

Bam!

“I would say that Andreas Keerkehgard tried,” the reporter offered.

“Yep. He’ll never do something that stupid again,” Dimitri said.

“I would disagree,” Ulla said firmly. “He’ll try on someone who can’t fight back.”

“But what about Charlton?” Iolanthe asked anxiously and poked Dimitri hard with a sharp elbow.

“Ow! He’ll be fine.”

Whack!

“Enough! Charlton, cease this brutality at once. You’ve made your point,” Zachery roared from the top of the steps. He descended the steps, past Walter, Ottilie, Iolanthe, Ulla, Dimitri, and Thiago Gunderson and stopped just out of range. The mob, recognizing his importance, quieted down so everyone could hear what the daimyo of DelFino had to say.

“Despite being vile pieces of garbage, Andreas and Harcourt are my nephews and I do have to work with Keerkehgard in the Conclave.”

Charlton grinned at him from the street. He was dirty, sweaty, his pants ruined, and bleeding from slashes along his left arm and hand. “I assume you learned something about their reputation?”

Zachery sighed, suddenly looking very tired and much older. “I did. Ah. There’s the ambulance and medical team I had Grimaldi summon as soon as my nephews challenged you. You’ll need to step aside so they can scrape them up off the street.”

“You expected him to fight, then, my lord DelFino? I’m Thiago Gunderson, _Barsoom Bugle_.” The reporter held his notebook up, pencil poised.

Zachery eyed him for a long, long moment. “Naturally. Charlton is a DelFino and we do not tolerate insults to members of our family.”

“But you stated that those young men are your nephews, my lord.”

“Yes, but they are Keerkehgard, not DelFino.”

Thiago Gunderson bowed respectfully. “Thank you for the clarification, sir. Ladies? While Charlton is getting seen to by the medic, tell me everything.”

“I will assume you asked the right question of the right person, Zachery?” Ottilie asked, watching the reporter busily write down everything Ulla was telling him about Chez Gramscee and her dinner with the Keerkehgard brothers while Iolanthe fussed over Charlton as he and Dimitri discussed the brawl, blow by blow. They ignored the moans and shrill sobs coming from the Keerkehgards, as well as the chatter of the medical team trying to get the brothers quickly stabilized for transport to the Great Hospital with the least amount of added damage.

“Grimaldi, my valet, and my secretary were most enlightening.”

“Very good. It looks like Ulla is learning the value of telling an advantageous story to a reporter. With proper handling, this Gunderson person will make sure the _Bugle_ publishes stories that are, shall we say, complementary to DelFino. Ah. She’s done. Iolanthe’s turn to discuss the Sakamoto open house. Oh good. Charlton is being cooperative.”

“You’re pleased?” Zachery asked, watching the medical team’s continued struggles with Andreas and Harcourt. Harcourt’s shoulder relocation popped loudly in the street echoed by his scream. “I have an enormous amount of fence-mending to do thanks to those three.”

“Good press is always valuable, Zachery. If you had bothered to ask me, I would have told you about your nephews’ reputation and Ulla would not have been publicly humiliated by that pair. Sakamoto will be more difficult to finesse, but even so, I would not trust Kenzig to tell me the sun rises in the east. If you are planning a business deal with his demesne, vet it very, very carefully.”

“I see I shall have to ask your opinion more often.”

The Barsoom police finally arrived and began moving the mob of avid spectators along, clearing the street. As they did, they reminded the spectators that unauthorized public betting was forbidden and to finish up quickly or get arrested and to quit loitering while picking up knocked-out teeth as souvenirs.

“Yes, my lord daimyo. You should. That’s why you gave me the position of matchmaker. You’d be astonished at what I know about the Four Hundred. I want the sons and daughters of DelFino to have reasonably successful marriages. While business deals and political ties are important, the goal of a good matchmaker is a contented, long-lasting marriage that produces children. The Keerkehgard boys would not have qualified on that basis, either.”

* * *

“Walter, we need to talk,” Iolanthe said firmly. “Don’t run off.”

Ulla grabbed Walter by the arm, digging her ragged nails into his flesh and making him wince in pain.

“The morning room is empty. We have a few minutes while Charlton gets cleaned up and dressed and if you don’t cause trouble, Iolanthe and Charlton will still make their train.”

“Do I cause trouble?” Walter asked innocently.

“I’d say so,” Iolanthe said dryly.

“You know you do,” Ulla said.

Walter glanced at the fussy ormolu clock and examined his own fingernails. “Get to the point.”

“How did Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard know to arrive as we were leaving?” Iolanthe asked sweetly. “They were so prompt. I know they aren’t happy with DelFino but that was awfully coincidental, don’t you think?”

“It wasn’t a coincidence,” Walter said calmly. “I sent them a message. And before you ask, yes, I tipped off that reporter friend of Charlton’s.”

“You wanted that fight?” Ulla asked, aghast.

“Damn right I did.” Walter frowned at his reflection in the large, gold-framed mirror opposite him. “Charlton broke my nose.”

“But you know Charlton boxes. You know he can fight,” Iolanthe protested. “He told me about your own fistfight. You know he outweighs both of your cousins and he’s years younger.”

Walter smiled, despite the pain it caused. “I will be honest. There was a remote chance Andreas and Harcourt would cause Charlton trouble. He did break my nose, after all.” He paused and ran his fingers across the bandages on his face and grinned more fiercely. “The fight went about as I expected, except for Andreas trying to knife Charlton. He’s usually got enough self-control to not cheat publicly. I knew Harcourt would fight dirty. Even so, I expected Charlton to grind them into paste and he did.”

“But why?” Iolanthe asked.

“Don’t tell me it’s because they were so rude to me at Chez Gramscee last night,” Ulla said.

Walter settled himself in a chair, wincing as he did so. “An unplanned bonus. That damned stablehand. I am going to hurt for days.”

“Quit stalling, Walter, or I’ll hurt you some more myself!” Ulla hissed.

“Because of Akins,” Walter said, frowning at his reflection in remembered fury. “You recall, my cousin in Keerkehgard who’s lame and who trains horses and is going to train a mare for Iolanthe. Akins is by far my favorite cousin in Keerkehgard. Andreas and Harcourt are the reason Akins was crippled. This was years ago. They made sure that horse threw him and no one believed it was deliberate and they got away with it. But I knew. I heard them talking and I told the daimyo of Keerkehgard and he told me I was a stupid little kid from DelFino and I should quit causing trouble.”

“How could they make a horse throw its rider?” Iolanthe asked.

“It’s easy. Some burrs slipped under a saddle and a few darts through a pea-shooter shot into the horse’s flanks. Akin’s horse went crazy, threw him, trampled him, and then dragged him. By the time help arrived, the burrs had worked free and the horse had shaken off the darts. They were little ones, like biting flies. Think of pins shoved through peas.”

“That’s horrible,” Iolanthe said.

“It was. It’s a miracle Akins lived. His fiancé dumped him because of his injuries and, so I was told, her family insisted.”

“Those two were vile, but are you sure about this?” Ulla asked suspiciously.

“Absolutely. I’ve spent enough time in Keerkehgard visiting my mother’s relatives. Some of my cousins warned me when I brought it up. They said to never, ever let Andreas and Harcourt know what you really think of them. They’re vicious, dirty, and underhanded.”

“Like you,” Iolanthe said. “That was underhanded, don’t you think?”

Walter stared her down coldly. “Akins has no recourse. His line was unimportant and after the accident, he lost all status. It’s been years and as skilled as he is with horses, he still has no power, no influence, no heir, and very little money. His direct line ends with him. Andreas and Harcourt’s line, on the other hand, is powerful and wealthy. Those two can do no wrong.”

He wrenched himself up from his chair, wincing as he did and loomed over Iolanthe.

“Believe me, those two earned every second of that beating from Charlton and not just because of what they did to Akins. I’ve got plenty of cousins in Keerkehgard who will be discreetly celebrating as soon as they hear about this. Those two are ruined.”

“You are an idiot, Walter,” Iolanthe said. “Those two will still hurt anyone they can. They’ll just stick to animals and children.”

“No.” Walter smiled icily. “Keerkehgard doesn’t tolerate weakness if you can’t overcome it in some way and they won’t. They don’t have the strength of character that Akins does. They’ll wallow and complain and they won’t get any sympathy or aid from anyone. They’ll die by inches in exile.” He stopped suddenly and looked pensive.

“I don’t know how Akins does it. He’s the nicest person I ever met. He’s always cheerful and good-tempered yet he’s spent his entire adult life in pain.”

“Walter,” Iolanthe said very gently. She reached up to his hands and he let her take them, not flinching at the touch of her twisted hand as people so often did. “It does not come naturally. Akins works very hard at being cheerful. I know, because the alternative is despair.”

Walter stared down at her luminous brown eyes in her plain face, her gloved, twisted hand wrapped around his own and the cane leaning against her chair.

“Yes, I suppose you do. Will you tell Charlton?”

“Tell me what?” Charlton asked from the doorway.

“I always forget how quietly you can move, considering you’re built like a labor caste,” Walter said, not taking his eyes off Iolanthe. “You’ve got a train to catch so I’ll let Iolanthe fill you in. I’ve got to make arrangements to send two of my riding horses to you so you don’t have to wait weeks for their arrival.”

He let go of Iolanthe’s hands and turned to face Charlton.

“Good fight and I think time will prove you made a good choice with your wife.”

“I don’t trust you, Walter.”

“You should. I will always do what is right for DelFino even when it means cooperating with you. Go save your peasants.”

* * *

“Will you always do what’s right for DelFino?” Ulla asked after Charlton and Iolanthe left.

“Naturally,” Walter said. “It’s my honor and my duty, something you should understand.”

“I don’t see how chasing teenaged girls and forcing yourself upon them could possibly be good for DelFino or your honor.”

Walter loomed over Ulla. “I get bad press.”

She sneered at him. “Liar. Remember Harry? He and I had a long, interesting chat on our last day at Charlton’s estates. Among other things, Harry told me why he and Saul let Charlton beat you up the week after we arrived. That scullery maid you accosted was DelFino, you know.”

“I know and because she belonged to DelFino, she should have given me what I wanted,” Walter replied. “I will give Charlton points, though. He defended what was his, which I have to say surprised me. I thought he was like Albion who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

Ulla stared at him for a long, long moment. “You have an interesting definition of what’s good for DelFino. I think you mean what’s good for you.”

She stood up and grabbed Walter by the arm, digging her fingers into his biceps; the exact spot she’d noticed him massaging. When he flinched and tried to pull away, she dug in deeper. She was stronger than she looked and took full advantage of Walter’s ailments.

“Think, Walter. I know you can,” she hissed. “I know gentlemen of the Four Hundred — and you are a prime specimen — do what they want and damn the consequences to everyone else. That’s how we ended up in this mess with Lannie lost and probably dead in some back-alley in Barsoom. Albion wanted what he wanted so he poisoned auntie Constance and tried to sell Lannie. Rastislav wanted what he wanted, so he lost the Pearls of Orlov, putting his entire demesne at risk. Andreas and Harcourt wanted to murder Akins and nearly succeeded. Even Zachery! He wants a tree plantation for DelFino so he tried to get me married to one of those two sods and then there’s his plans for you.”

“Let go of me and what do you mean by that last bit?” Walter asked, puzzled. “My parents have arranged for the best possible match I could make. Naomi Khan is gorgeous, multiple degrees of consanguinity away from me, well-dowered, well-connected, and with Khan to work with, we’ll open markets for DelFino all the way to Easternmost.”

Ulla stared back at him, wished she hadn’t opened her mouth and sighed. She loosened her hand and stepped away from Walter. “I always do my duty by DelFino and that means you, too, even though I’ll probably regret this. Ask aunt Ottilie what her opinion is of Naomi Khan.”

“I don’t have to. I heard her tell dad her opinion right in front of us last night.”

“Ask her real opinion, moron. And I want you to think about what I said, Walter. Is what you want really the best for DelFino or is it just what you want for _you_? They aren’t the same thing, especially when you think about possible fallout.”

“You’re not making any sense, Ulla.”

“You’ll find out. I’m going out to search for Lannie some more.”

The fussy ormolu clock chimed the hour, startling her and him.

She glanced at it, then evaluated her reflection in the mirror. While her clothes weren’t suitable to meet a blind date arranged by aunt Ottilie, they were quite suitable for spending the day visiting in town. Changing her outfit would excite questions she didn’t want to answer.

“Ask yourself how much are you behaving like Albion? Rastislav? Andreas and Harcourt? Or your father when you claim you’re only doing what’s best for DelFino? I have to go or I’ll be late.”

She spun on her heel and darted out the door, leaving Walter to stare pensively at his bruised reflection in the mirror while he massaged his biceps where she had squeezed his upper arm. Ulla could be difficult to live with but she never lied. She didn’t have enough imagination to lie. She always did her duty, no matter what it cost her. What did she not want to say but Ottilie could?

* * *

“I don’t like your meeting that man, Miss Ulla,” Lesten said.

“I need to do this, Lesten,” Ulla replied calmly.

“You don’t know him.”

“Yair Buruk helped me at the Great Hospital when he didn’t have to and he helped me more at Chez Gramscee last night. I think he’s the reason auntie Ottilie and I made it safely to you and the carriage.”

The coachman frowned at the horses and eased the reins, guiding the team down the avenue leading to Burroughs park. “That may be true. The Keerkehgard boys have a terrible reputation. They’re everything bad about gentlemen of the Four Hundred and begging your pardon Miss Ulla for saying so.”

“You are correct and I won’t tell.”

“I heard what Lady Ottilie said about familiarities with the servants.”

“I don’t think she meant DelFino staff. Who else can I talk to and trust?” Ulla said. “I would never doubt your word or Grimaldi’s or Harry’s or James or my maid’s or anyone’s, really.”

“I thank you for that, Miss Ulla, but don’t forget there’s servants like that Nelly who ruined Miss Iolanthe’s clothes and stole her jewelry and is right now whoring her way through Barsoom.”

“You don’t know that Nelly is whoring her way through Barsoom, Lesten,” Ulla said disapprovingly.

“You say that because you wouldn’t do such a thing, Miss Ulla, but Matsuda, Orlov’s butler, and the Orlov footmen told us DelFino servants plenty about that Nelly. She would. She has. And she will because she’ll run out of coin soon enough. She fooled Miss Iolanthe because Miss Iolanthe is as sweet and generous as they come and wanted to save her from the daimyo of Orlov, but the servants all knew better.”

“Aha!” Ulla said in triumph. “You’ve made my point. If Iolanthe had been more familiar with Orlov’s own servants, she wouldn’t have made that mistake with that Nelly.”

Lesten laughed. “You have the right of it, Miss Ulla. And I’ll stay as close as I can to you and that Yair Buruk so he can’t drag you off and sell you to slavers.”

It was Ulla’s turn to laugh. “I don’t think slavers operate out of Burroughs Park.” She stopped laughing. “They’ll be in the alleys, where Lannie is.” She dug her ruined fingernails into her flanks, wondering how much longer the fabric would last under the pressure, before shredding and allowing her fingernails to draw blood.

“We’ll find her, Miss Ulla.”

* * *

“Gleesh,” Charlton said, disconcerted. “That cold devious bastard. He set us all up. I never once questioned those prancing sods showing up at the livery stable and then this morning.” They had arrived at the train station with just enough time to sit and wait a few minutes.

“They were in town and he took advantage of their demented pride and bloodlust,” Iolanthe said. “He didn’t know they would meet Ulla at Chez Gramscee, although their behavior towards her gave him another reason to enjoy you grinding them into pâté.”

Charlton rolled his neck on his shoulders. He wouldn’t admit it, but Andreas and Harcourt had each gotten in a few lucky blows and that knife of Andreas’ had come uncomfortably close to doing real damage. He draped that bandaged arm around Iolanthe, pulling her closer to him on the comfortable, heavily padded and luxuriously upholstered seating in the first-class waiting area.

“Did my bloodlust bother you?” he asked carefully.

She smiled up at him. “You don’t have bloodlust or if you do, it’s not crazy and uncontrolled. You gave both of those fools plenty of chances to back down. And, I suppose, you could have killed them and you didn’t.”

Charlton scratched at his itching knuckles. “I wonder if I should have. Dead men can’t cause trouble.”

“Their relatives can.”

He sighed. “If what Walter said is true, plenty of their relatives will be dancing in the streets when they hear the news. What worries me is did those two follow us from the livery stable to Shondra’s?”

Iolanthe’s eyes widened as she thought about it.

“No,” she decided. “I believe we would have noticed. The streets weren’t that busy near Shondra’s little shack and they would have stood out like we did. Also, we sent that message to her and she didn’t mention them. And then there’s her dogs.” She shuddered. “Shondra would have commanded her dogs to devour them. Free dog food, you know, and all the evidence vanished down their gullets. Plus, Andreas and Harcourt had to get ready for their dinner with Ulla. They wouldn’t have had the time.”

Charlton smiled with relief. “You are so smart.”

“It does make me worry, though,” Iolanthe said.

“And why would that be?” Charlton asked, hearing the anxiety in her voice and feeling the tremble in her body.

“Do you have dogs? I don’t think I can tolerate being around dogs after Shondra’s brutes.”

“No. Not in the manor house. Plenty of dogs in the village, of course. The shepherd’s got his dogs as well. But we don’t.” He ran his finger down her veiled cheek, then down her neck and stopped on her shoulder, sliding his finger underneath her veil, warm and intimate. “We do have cats for the mice. Are you all right with cats?”

She turned in her seat, her face aglow. “I would love to find out. We had cats at my finishing school in Nourz but the sot wouldn’t allow us to have cats in Orlov Castle. Could I have a kitten of my own?”

“As many as you want. There’s always a litter to choose from and plenty of mice for them to eat.” Kittens are free so I can afford them for you, he thought. Unlike everything else, like staying dry when it rains. “Uh, my house really is falling down.”

She laid her twisted left hand on his, much more comfortable about showing it in public than she had been only a few days ago. “I have no dowry to repair it.”

He gazed into her luminous brown eyes. “You’re smart, you’re brave, you care deeply, and you’re willing to take on a mountain of work in the poorest corner of DelFino. You are your own dowry.”

The clock chimed overhead and a liveried employee ran towards them.

“Time to board.” He grinned suddenly. “Our compartment has a bed. We should examine it right away.”

Iolanthe thought of the surrounding compartments, each with their own listening passengers and then thought of Mrs. Pondicherry. An adventuress like her wouldn’t hesitate over fears about soundproofing.

“Yes, we should,” she said and was rewarded when Charlton’s eyes filled with lust and approval. He didn’t say words of love but his actions demonstrated how much he cared and on many levels.

* * *

“You came,” Yair said. He stood and reached for her hands. “Shall we take a walk, Miss DelFino?”

Ulla looked down at her hands and wanted to wince. She’d forgotten her gloves again, the pesky things, and her fingernails looked terrible and why did she care anyway? Her fingernails should be the least of her worries, even if they were the outward manifestation of her fears.

She shoved her hands against her sides and his smile disappeared.

“Yes, of course.” She looked around at the park, washed clean from the night’s rains. “I’ve never been to Burroughs Park before. It seems pleasant. Nicely landscaped and well maintained, except for not having pigeon spikes on the pavilion rafters. Are those swans on the lake?” What a stupid thing to say. Those birds weren’t geese as anyone with eyes could tell.

“Yes, they are. I won’t bite, I promise,” Yair told her, noting her open discomfort.

She laughed suddenly. “You’d better not. My coachman is itching to use his whip on you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Yair looked over to where the carriage was tied up and the stony-faced coachman attending to his horses while trying simultaneously to keep him and Ulla under close supervision.

“Your servant doesn’t approve?”

“No, Lesten doesn’t. He’s afraid you’ll sell me to slavers.”

“Never,” Yair said. “I read those stories in the papers about your cousin. Still no luck saving Lannie?”

Ulla stopped walking and stared out at the lake, a mirror of calm reflecting the fleecy clouds overhead and swans gliding across the cloud reflections as though they weren’t there. The sunlight glinted on their feathers, burnishing the tips until they glowed like the Pearls of Orlov and if anyone knew Lannie was carrying the Pearls, she was as good as dead. Despite Dimitri’s reassurances, she knew he thought Lannie’s death was a small price to pay to rescue the Pearls. The dumb slobbo. He believed she, a daughter of DelFino, wouldn’t know where the greatest duty to a demesne lay. She pretended to admire the swans, acutely aware of the man standing at her side. What made it all worse was that Yair hadn’t instantly told her slavers weren’t real as she had hoped he would say.

“No. She vanished. We can’t find her and we’ve looked and looked. I’ve asked everyone, her brother has too. Our servants have searched as well. Not a trace, as though she fell off the surface of Mars. It’s been the most dreadful mess and all because her worthless father tried to sell her to the daimyo of Orlov.” Ulla paused and narrowed her eyes as she worked out how he knew where she would eat dinner. “You read society columns?”

“My family is in the hospitality business. We keep abreast of the Four Hundred, celebrities, and the merchant classes because that’s where the money is.”

“So you do wait on tables. You were very proficient at Chez Gramscee.” Gleesh, but she sounded like an idiot.

“Among other things. It pays the bills. My goal is to own a hotel of my own and me and mine have been saving for years to pay for one.” His face lit up. “I already have the name picked out. The New Moons Hotel. There’s a big market for Four Hundred families coming to Barsoom who can’t afford the Excelsior Galaxy and the like.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Ulla said thoughtfully. She ran over her penpal lists; many of her acquaintances would visit Barsoom more often if they had a place to stay that they could afford while still passing muster with the Four Hundred. “You’ll have to be careful how you market it. You will lose cachet if you imply your hotel isn’t top-quality, yet you can’t provide top-quality services and goods without charging top-quality prices.”

“Very astute, Miss DelFino.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised. I learned early on that a demesne is a business, first and foremost. The daimyo is not just our leader. He’s our chief executive officer.” And no matter how astute I am, I’ll never be allowed to even compete to be named daimyo, whether I remain a spinster at DelFino or marry into someplace else. She shoved her useless resentment back down.

“I am surprised,” Yair said, keeping his eyes on the swans gliding past. “I read the columns. I wait on Four Hundred ladies and gentlemen and most of them don’t seem capable of doing anything more taxing than choosing fashionable gloves.”

She dug her nails harder into her flanks. Was this man, this low-caste waiter wearing the same clothes he’d worn when she’d met him the first time, subtly criticizing the state of her nails? But he had helped her at the Great Hospital. He’d made an effort to work at Chez Gramscee just to see her. That had to mean something, although she couldn’t understand what it was, other than social climbing and if he was social climbing, wouldn’t he be gushing over her hair style, her fashionable clothes, her connections?

But he wasn’t.

“We should move on,” Ulla said, looking for something to say. “Follow the swans. They’re lovely. Does this path go all the way around the lake?” She cringed inwardly. It was obvious the path went all the way around the lake. That’s how parks were designed.

Yair, to her intense relief, did not comment on her inane conversation as so many charming, high-status, well-placed young men had in the past. She really was better at talking about practicalities. She wished there was something practical she could talk about and yet she was drawing a complete blank. Maybe she should have listened to Albion and, as Walter had said many times, learned the only thing he was capable of teaching: sparkling conversation. Except that would have meant listening to that worthless ham who had gambled away his patrimony, poisoned his wife, and sold his daughter to cover his crimes. There had to be something in the park that would work as a conversational subject. Aha! She could talk about the esthetics of the cloud formations currently being reflected in the lake and their resemblance to swans.

“It’s a hot day,” Ulla said and wanted to scream in fury at the babble that came out of her mouth instead of what she’d wanted to say. No wonder Ottilie kept harping on her lack of social skills.

“Yes, it is. Would you like a shave-ice? There’s a vendor just up ahead.”

Ulla stopped, flummoxed again. “A shave-ice? What is a shave-ice?”

Yair smiled. “You’ll like it.”

He bought two shave-ices from the vendor and handed her the pink one. It was a scoop of finely shaved ice piled in a paper cone with guava syrup poured over it, coloring and flavoring the ice. Ulla inspected it and cautiously took a bite. It was tangy, bold, and deliciously cold, the taste flooding her mouth. She couldn’t stop herself from beaming wildly in pleasure.

“Good, aren’t they.”

“Yes! I’ve never had one before.” And you bought me one without prompting or showing off and I know you don’t have coin to burn if you’re saving up tips to buy a hotel but you did it anyway. “Thank you.”

She could feel a tightness relax with each cold, refreshing bite. She didn’t have to talk while eating shave-ice.

Then she stopped walking again, making Yair stop.

“Damnation. Even in the parks? Those bastards!”

“What?” Yair asked, looking around to see what had alarmed her.

“A spy-eye.” She pointed to the tiny camera’s blinking red eye mounted just underneath the light fixture. “The sods.”

“Those damned things. Still fully functional too.” Yair frowned at it and Ulla guessed he was thinking about how he could smash it, unobserved. Well. She didn’t have that concern.

“Hold my shave-ice, please, and better stand out of range while I smash this piece of Olde Earthe surveillance equipment.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because while they can’t arrest me, they can arrest you as an accomplice if you’re seen with me,” Ulla said. “Relax! I do this all the time.” She beamed at him. “I promise I won’t hit the light fixture and damage the park’s property.”

He smiled back. “Let me get out of range. Do you have stones?”

“No. Luckily, this gravel path does. Bad planning on someone’s part.” Ulla knelt down and shifted through the gravel, choosing just the right stones, then went and stood within the camera’s range and waved at it. She let loose a string of profanity along with a gesture that Yair had never seen a woman other than a back-alley whore use, ending with “I’m Ulla Tisdale DelFino! Come and arrest me.” She neatly lobbed the stone and scored a direct hit, followed by several more to ensure the spy-eye was broken. As promised, she missed the light fixture each time.

When Yair rejoined her, he said, “I’d heard that the Four Hundred do this.”

“It’s one of our few public services. Not every lady does, but I do.” She finished her shave-ice, drinking the icy pink liquid left in the paper cone. She crumpled the cone and stuffed it in a pocket, for when a convenient trash can appeared. There had to be one somewhere, although the park management clearly hadn’t thought of making them convenient for park visitors.

He winked at her. “I also didn’t know ladies swore like that. Did you learn that vocabulary from your coachman?”

Ulla flushed. “Lesten would never swear like that around me. The stablehands in DelFino taught me. It lets me, um, express my feelings without throwing things.”

He chuckled. “Like you not throwing that pitcher of water at Andreas Keerkehgard last night?”

“I really wanted to,” Ulla admitted. “Except that I knew some poor busboy would have to clean up afterwards. That’s why I only threw the contents. Broken glass is really hard to get out of a wet carpet. I’m just glad the plate I threw only broke into four pieces.”

He threw back his head and laughed as though she had said something funny.

“It’s a damn shame the police don’t use spy-eyes to solve crimes. What did they say when you told them about your cousin gone missing?”

Ulla stared at him, baffled. “We didn’t go to the police. Why would we? We’re the Four Hundred.”

He stared back at her, his jaw dropping. “You didn’t contact the police? Are you crazy?”


	31. Hey girlie! You get a better clientele wearing that pretty dress?

Lannie grimly set one foot in front of the other, concentrating with each careful step so she didn’t aggravate her feet still further. She had always believed she was used to walking, but she was discovering she was wrong. She had _never_ walked this much before. She’d also always walked either barefoot or in shoes that fit properly.

The boots she’d stolen from the closet in the cathedral chapel were too big.

She had thought stuffing her stockings in and around her feet would make the boots fit better, but she was wrong. She’d thought that having boots too large would only make her clumsy. She’d been wrong there too. Ulla wouldn’t be surprised. Ulla probably had a remedy for what ailed her but Ulla wasn’t around to help.

Her feet hurt. They more than hurt. They ached and were developing sore spots on the soles, insteps, and on her toes. She needed to take off her boots but one look at the filthy, gravel road they were traveling on meant she didn’t dare. She didn’t want to ask Fen if she could ride Coppertail while he continued to walk, because he’d been adamant about the horse getting some rest from carrying both of them. She was afraid to ask him to stop so she could rest, because he’d leave her behind. Worse, if they rested, someone might notice her. How someone would notice her trudging along on the Pole-To-Pole Corridor road in a mob of strangers was a darn good question, but Orlov had to be looking for her because of those darn Pearls she’d stolen. DelFino probably was searching too, because of the way she’d publicly shamed the family. Jilting the daimyo of Orlov in a huge cathedral in Barsoom wouldn’t be forgiven quickly.

Would Orlov and DelFino look for her on the Pole-To-Pole corridor? They might. The anxiety ate at her. If she wanted to run to Ranaglia and beg for sanctuary with mama’s family, this was the obvious route. The other obvious route was the passenger train, rattling by swiftly while she trudged along, carrying passengers who got to sit down. Which route would her relatives think she chose? Train tickets cost money, but DelFino and Orlov knew she had the Pearls to barter with. Lannie sighed tiredly. Either way, every step north got her farther away from Barsoom and closer to safe anonymity.

She’d just have to plod along, keep her mouth shut, and not give Fen a reason to abandon her. The only reason he had for helping her was to get back at Charlton and Walter and Dimitri Orlov for beating him up. How long would his anger at them last? Long enough to get her to Darnay as he said? It was doubtful. He’d want to get paid, somehow. A group of half-dressed women leaned out of a wagon, hooting and calling lewd suggestions to the men plodding north all around them. She guessed they were prostitutes, like Winnie and Tevy. Her stomach roiled. She couldn’t pay that way.

That left the Pearls. Their weight filled her pockets, adding to her burden. They were unbelievable wealth and oh, so lovely and dangerous. The Pearls made her mind run in circles over what to do with them. Whatever option she chose was risky and would end in disaster; she couldn’t give them up and she couldn’t keep them.

Her feet hurt so badly. If Fen’s did, he wasn’t complaining just like he wasn’t complaining about aching all over from being beaten to a pulp. More bruises were blooming on his face and arms, revealed by his rolled-up sleeves. Coppertail seemed fine. It was just her. Lannie swallowed misery, stared at the filthy road and kept plodding forward, hoping she’d come up with a clever idea. Ulla would think of something and if Ulla could think of a solution, then she could too. Eventually.

At least the rain had stopped and she was drying off. The road wasn’t as slippery with mud and horse shit either although the steam rising from the drying gravel made the road smell worse than ever.

One foot in front of the other. Over and over and over. Again and again and again. Each step got her closer to Northernmost and further from Barsoom and DelFino and home and everyone she knew and loved. The day before yesterday had been her eighteenth birthday and what a memorable day that had been. Memorably awful, but she’d survived it. Today was rapidly shaping up to be the kind of day she’d like to forget. Home. She’d never go home again and enjoy cake with mama who might not even be alive because of what daddy had done. Or Charlton, who would argue over the biggest slice of cake and then she’d fool him into taking the smaller slice like she always did.

One foot in front of the other. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Repeat until she reached Northernmost, however far away that was. Lannie plodded, trying to empty her mind of pain and fear and worry, concentrating on stepping carefully so her feet didn’t hurt so much and Fen wouldn’t notice and discard her along the road like troublesome rubbish.

* * *

“We are not crazy. The police have nothing to do with the Four Hundred,” Ulla stated the obvious. “They can’t arrest us, they can’t help us, they don’t exist for us.”

“Aye-yi-yi,” Yair said, completely and utterly dumbfounded. “They exist for everyone else on Mars. They’ve got eyes on the street everywhere in Barsoom, and everyone in Barsoom will talk about your cousin in exchange for a reward especially if the alternative is a night in jail.”

“I’ve never spoken to a policeman,” Ulla said, trying to understand why he was so upset.

“Because you’re Four Hundred and you never needed to,” Yair said. “Now, you do.” The word ‘moron’ hovered in the air. “They can go everywhere.”

“So can I. Plus, I got the story in the newspaper society columns,” she protested.

He groaned. “Most people don’t read a newspaper other than the want ads, sports, and to see if their numbers won down at the bookie.”

“Lannie wouldn’t be roaming around the streets of Barsoom,” Ulla argued. “She had to have gone to someone she knew. Someone in the Four Hundred.” I pray that’s what happened because I can’t bear the alternative so I won’t think about the alternative if I’m not forced to.

“Why not? How do you know? Barsoom is a huge city.” Yair put his big strong hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Ulla. If slavers got Lannie, and I’m not saying they did because it’s extremely unlikely, the police may be your only option. Same thing if she’s chained in some crib in the rookery.”

“What? Chained? In a, a crib? Babies sleep in cribs! And they aren’t chained!”

Yair gritted his teeth. “You don’t know what the slums can be like. The rookery is where the poorest, most desperate people live. Tenements piled one on top of the other, so close there’s no space between the buildings, and those buildings are crammed full of people. A crib is a rookery whorehouse where unwilling girls get chained to the beds so they can’t run away.”

Ulla yanked herself away and ran, stopping when the path dead-ended next to the lapping water at the lake’s shore. The swans glided by, as beautiful and pearlescent and uncaring as the sun-kissed clouds drifting overhead.

“I can’t believe that’s true,” she shouted at him when he followed her. “I won’t believe it. Lannie is alive and she’s safe and she just doesn’t know she’s safe and that’s why we haven’t found her yet. Because she’s hiding with friends who, who —”

“— who all read the society pages even if they don’t read anything else and who all gossip like they breathe and who all know, every last member of the Four Hundred currently in the city and by now everyone halfway to Northernmost, that you are looking for Yilanda Ranaglia DelFino!” Yair snarled. “Think, Ulla! I know you can.”

“You are not permitted … I have to sit down.” Ulla stared at the oblivious, luminous swans scattered across the lake like pearls from a broken necklace. She slumped and would have fallen onto the gravel path except Yair caught her, holding her upright. She let him lead her to a nearby bench where she sat, watching the swans because she couldn’t physically do anything else.

The swans weren’t oblivious as she had thought. A pair, trailing a bracelet of fluffy gray cygnets behind them, drifted closer, as if hoping for a handout. They must be used to people feeding them. They saw everything that happened around the lake, their home. They lived there and so they knew what was usual, normal, expected. And they knew when something was out of place. Like her. Sitting on a bench in a park she hadn’t known existed until a few days ago. Other people would know that Lannie was out of place, even if they hadn’t said so to her and Dimitri or to Charlton and Iolanthe. Because they didn’t fit in. They were outsiders and so were regarded with suspicion.

Yair sat next to her. She unthinkingly dug her nails into her thighs and he pulled her hand away, saving at least one side of her dress. He was sitting next to her. A low-caste waiter saving tip money to buy a hotel which would take him several hundred years to accomplish and he’d said the most sensible thing anyone she knew had said during the search for Lannie.

She turned and said, “We have to go to the police.”

He smiled encouragingly at her. “Yes. We do.”

“That’s what I’ve been missing. I knew I was missing something and that was it. What you said.”

“Yes.” He reached over and ran his fingertips across her damp cheeks. “Don’t cry. The police will cast a far wider net to find Lannie than you ever could. They’ll find her.” Or her body. Maybe. There were places in Barsoom that would accept a body that needed disappearing, no questions asked. He decided not to tell Ulla, not yet at any rate.

“Miss Ulla!” Lesten yelled, running up the path. “Get your hands off my lady Ulla!” He raised his whip threateningly, despite Yair being larger, more muscular, and considerably younger.

“It’s all right, Lesten,” Ulla said. “I’m fine. Yair pointed out what I’ve been missing; what everyone’s been missing.” She tore her eyes away from the swans to reassure her coachman she was unharmed and free to walk away. “We’re going to the police. Do you know where they are?”

“What?”

“Miss DelFino just informed me that no one contacted the Barsoom police to file a missing persons report about her cousin, Yilanda Ranaglia DelFino,” Yair said. “I know where the nearest substation is. We need to go there now.”

Lesten sagged on the gravel path, suddenly looking much older. “Oh my lady. I hadn’t thought of them. No one did. I’m so sorry.”

Ulla leapt to her feet, reenergized. “Don’t be sorry. We all missed the obvious. Yair,” she turned to him and found herself taking his strong, capable hands in hers. “Please come with me. I don’t know where to go and I don’t know what to say to the police when I get there. Will they listen to me? Or will they hand me a form and pretend they’re listening because I’m Ulla DelFino and nothing will happen because they hate the Four Hundred? I broke the spy-eye because I could and they won’t listen to me because I smashed it.” She stopped, then wailed “I failed Lannie again!”

Yair grinned suddenly. “They will listen to you.”

* * *

“I see, Miss DelFino,” the desk sergeant said, eyeing the slightly disheveled, extremely well-dressed young lady in front of him when she finished flooding his office hip-deep with anguished words. “Fill out this form.” The older coachman was a servant, clad head to toe in DelFino livery. The younger man with her, however, was a puzzle. He wasn’t wealthy or Four Hundred or in servant’s livery and was decidedly out of place keeping company with the likes of Lady Ulla Tisdale DelFino.

What did I tell you?” Ulla wailed to Yair and Lesten. “They’ll have me fill out forms instead of searching for Lannie!”

“Miss DelFino,” the desk sergeant said tiredly, holding up his hand for silence, “the form is so that the entire Barsoom police force, from the beat cops to the homicide detectives can be informed faster, without you having to tell your story several hundred times. We can do it that way, if you insist, but our way is faster.”

“Oh,” Ulla said. “I didn’t know.”

“While you’re filling out the forms, I’ll arrange for our police artist to interview you and sketch out your cousin so we can print up wanted posters.”

“Oh,” Ulla said. “I never thought of that.”

“We’ll also want every possible location you can think of that your cousin might have gone to, so we can interview neighbors, servants, street vendors, shopkeepers, and the like in those areas.”

“Oh,” Ulla said. “That would be useful.”

“Have a seat out in the lobby.”

“Thank you,” Ulla said. She looked down at the clipboard holding multiple sheets of paper, carbons slipped between them. “This form is very detailed.”

“Yes, Miss DelFino, it is. We like getting as much information as possible upfront so we don’t waste time.”

“Oh,” Ulla said. “What good planning.”

“Yes, Miss DelFino. Have a seat in the lobby and get started. Print neatly to improve legibility.”

“I always do,” Ulla said, happy to finally stop feeling like the most incompetent moron on Mars.

Once seated, clipboard in hand, she whispered to Yair, “you were correct.”

“You bet I was,” he whispered back.

“Oh, no,” Ulla whispered after a few minutes of rapidly printing information. “I don’t know the exact street addresses!”

“I do, Miss Ulla,” Lesten whispered from her other side.

She caught Yair’s expression.

“Well, I don’t! All I have to know are which trolley lines to use.”

“You take the trolley?”

“Sure,” Ulla said, her pencil racing across the form filling out the information Lesten gave her. “Lesten and James aren’t always available.”

* * *

After filling out numerous forms, Ulla dutifully waited for the police artist. It gave her time to study the range of humanity parading through the small police substation near Burroughs Park and realize she wasn’t necessarily where she wanted to be.

“Wait a minute. You said this was a _substation_ ,” Ulla whispered to Yair. “This isn’t the main police headquarters?”

“No, this was closest. They’ll get started —”

“But this isn’t the closest place to the cathedral! We have to go there too!”

“Ulla. Police districts talk to each other, especially when a member of the Four Hundred is involved.”

“I’m going to talk to that sergeant again and make sure,” Ulla said and leaped to her feet and marched back to the office.

“Let her go, lad,” Lesten said, pulling Yair back to the bench. “I know Miss Ulla.”

She returned a few minutes later, chastened and openly chewing on her nails.

“Well?” Yair asked.

“Any news, Miss Ulla?” Lesten asked.

“The sergeant and the artist are busy. Assault and attempted murder.”

“In this neighborhood?” Yair asked. “Burroughs Park is very safe, otherwise I wouldn’t have suggested it.”

“Not today. That poor woman. She looks terrible. She should be at the Great Hospital. Lannie could be there too,” Ulla said. She slumped down onto the bench next to Yair.

“That’s very unlikely,” Yair said soothingly, taking her hands in his. He ignored Lesten’s open disapproval.

It’s very likely, Ulla thought, thinking of Lannie carting around the Pearls of Orlov. But I can’t say anything about them.

“You did tell them everything that the form asked for?” Yair asked, echoing what the desk sergeant had asked when she had marched into his office.

“Of course,” Ulla lied. “I didn’t miss a detail.” Except the biggest one of all because I swore I wouldn’t and how long do I want to keep my word when Lannie’s life is at stake? Except what am I, if I don’t keep my word. A liar, like Albion DelFino. Or my mother.

“Hey girlie! You get a better clientele wearing that pretty dress?”

Ulla looked up at the cheerful, blowsy woman spilling out of her blouse, being escorted by a blasé patrolman. The other woman with her was showing as much skin. They both had the characteristic yellowy-green mottled skin of the lowest classes and neither of them looked familiar.

“Don’t talk to her, Miss Ulla,” Lesten whispered. “You shouldn’t be talking to a woman like that.”

Ulla gave him a confused look. “I’ll be fine.” She called back “Thank you but I don’t know what you mean.”

“Now, Winnie,” the patrolman said. “You and Tevy are new here and we don’t let our guests harass other visitors in the substation.”

“I’m not harassing that blonde,” Winnie protested. “I just want to know how her business is going.”

Tevy giggled. “Must be pretty good. She’s got two regulars! I thought you didn’t arrest the johns in Burroughs Park.”

Enlightenment bloomed. Ulla stared, slack-jawed, while the patrolman escorted the two street whores into the booking room. “Oh. That’s what you meant, Lesten.”

“This is more of how the other nine-tenths live,” Yair murmured at her other side.

“How um, colorful,” Ulla said. “But they’re not chained to um, cribs so I suppose it could be worse.” They weren’t highly paid and feted courtesans either, which would be a much more lucrative way of making a living, even if those women were still not quite respectable enough to be invited to a family dinner.

“It can always be worse,” Yair said, his face hardening. He caught her sucked-in breath. “Lannie will be fine. We’ll find her.”

“Ulla DelFino! You’re up next!” a receptionist called out. “This way, please.”

“That must be the artist,” Ulla said. “Let’s go.”

From behind around the corner, Tevy whispered to Winnie, “If that’s Ulla DelFino, then who was we talking to in the alley?”

“I dunno,” Winnie whispered back. “But I don’t aim to find out.”

“Come along, ladies,” the patrolman said. “You’ve got a fine to pay.”

* * *

“Thank you, Yair,” Ulla said. “You’re positive this substation will communicate with the main police station in the city?”

Yair had asked to be dropped off on her way back to the DelFino townhouse. The neighborhood surrounding Burroughs Park was crowded, busy, and, to all appearances, moderately prosperous. He had to go to work, but at what, he wouldn’t say.

“Yes, Ulla,” Yair said patiently. “As the desk sergeant said, you don’t have to go there. All the information will be passed along between the various substations throughout Barsoom and up and down the Pole-To-Pole Road and along the Equator Road.”

“Lannie wouldn’t take the Equator Road,” Ulla said. She shut up when she saw Yair’s expression and reconsidered. “Maybe she would, at least the Westernmost side.”

“He’s not wrong, Miss Ulla,” Lesten said from his perch at the front of the carriage. “It’s possible that Miss Lannie did something no one thought of and that’s why no one can find her.” He couldn’t say anything else because the other, far more likely possibilities would break Miss Ulla’s heart again. Telling her the footmen’s opinions about Miss Lannie’s fate had been a mistake.

“Lesten is correct,” Yair said. “We don’t know. Let the police cast the widest possible net.”

“You’re being very helpful,” Ulla said. She turned to gaze into his dark brown eyes. Yair Buruk was not the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She’d met plenty of gentlemen of the Four Hundred and so had a large basis of comparison. But she still enjoyed looking at him, just as she would enjoy looking at a well-conformed horse or a swan or a painting. Her appreciation of his masculinity didn’t mean anything. It was just aesthetics.

“My pleasure,” Yair said.

“Why are you being helpful? I need to know and I don’t think anymore that it’s social climbing, because if it was, you wouldn’t have bothered with making me go to the police.”

Yair watched her face carefully, studying it as if committing it to memory.

“Because I met this hot blonde who needed my help. I didn’t think you were Ulla DelFino, because you’ve got quite a mouth on you.”

She flushed.

“I told my friends and family about you and my third cousin at Chez Gramscee said Ulla DelFino would be dining there so I got a shift to see if she was the same hot blonde I met at the Apothecary Building and it was you. And you needed my help. And today, you kept your promise to see me and you needed my help again.”

“Oh. I don’t think of myself as a hot blonde.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m a capable, practical woman with blonde hair.”

Yair grinned, raking his eyes appreciatively across her body from crown to toes.

“You are that, but you’re also a hot blonde with a hot mouth.” He rooted around in a pocket. “My card. If you need my help again.”

“Of course.” She took his card and tucked it gently into her bag. It was a physical remembrance of Yair Buruk, amazingly helpful low-caste waiter, and the only one she would ever have. There was no reason for her to associate with him again. She had a life in the Four Hundred and it wasn’t as if he had time to spare, saving for the impossible dream of a hotel.

“My stop,” Yair said. He climbed nimbly out of the carriage. As he stepped away, the sky split in two and a few seconds later the wave of sound avalanched over them.

As one, Ulla, Yair, Lesten, the horses, and all the traffic around them stopped and turned to watch the rocket from Barsoom’s spaceport rip through the atmosphere, heading towards the hundreds of millions of klicks of vacuum separating Mars from Olde Earthe.

Ulla swore like a stablehand, watching the rocket vanish in a column of smoke and fire and thunderous noise.

“Those rapacious, bloodsucking bastards,” Lesten said resentfully, his hands full with keeping the horses from bolting.

“I hate them,” Yair said. His expressive face turned resentful. “Stealing our wealth so they can conquer and enslave the rest of the solar system.”

“That rocket is loaded with rare earths from Summerset,” Ulla said bitterly. “Those bastards. We need them here for the Icicle Works and the Nitrogen Factory and the Magnetrons. How can they expect us to transform Mars into the jewel of the solar system when they steal the raw materials we need to make the process happen?”

“They don’t care, Ulla,” Yair said. “They don’t have to.” He reached back and caught her hand, lifting it to his lips. “I do care. If you need me, ask.” He stared into her blue eyes for an endless moment, then let her hand fall and turned away, disappearing into the crowded street.

Ulla watched him go, making Lesten and the horses wait patiently.

“Miss Ulla?” the coachman ventured.

“We should go to the Great Hospital,” Ulla said distantly.

“Why there, Miss Ulla? Are those test results back yet?”

“No. I need to check the morgue.” Where hopes and dreams go to die and get processed.

* * *

The train attendants left a note, pinned to the compartment door’s tiny bulletin board.

“I think we have enough time,” Charlton said and handed Iolanthe the note. Her lips were bruised from kissing and she wasn’t sure she was glad she was wearing her veil or not. He hadn’t been kidding about wanting her and she’d never believed a man would.

Her eyes widened when she read the note and she thought of the painting in her bedchamber, back in Orlov Castle. She’d have to have papa discreetly mail it to her. She never would have believed she’d get to see the real thing and now she would do that too.

“Yes, of course,” Iolanthe said. “The observation car?”

“It will be packed from end to end,” Charlton said thoughtfully. “So will the dining cars. We should be able to see almost as well from the club car and get some tea and sandwiches.”

“Can we afford this?”

“DelFino runs a tab with the railway and as long as we’re not extravagant, we can.”

“How exciting,” Iolanthe said. “I’ve never been inside a club car.” Knowing that DelFino ran a tab was reassuring; it meant the fare to Charlton’s estates wouldn’t be stolen from the mouths of his serfs; no, his peasants. That was the word DelFino used and, perhaps, it was because DelFino peasants were treated better than Orlov serfs.

He beamed at her. “I love showing you new places.”

* * *

The club car was rapidly filling up, but they were able to slip into the last unoccupied seats at a small table on the east side, giving them a good view of the Pole-To-Pole road that ran parallel all the way to Northernmost. Their own compartment was on the west side of the train, facing the other rail-lines and then the Pole-To-Pole road that ran south from Northernmost to Barsoom and thence across the rest of the planet to Southernmost.

“This is much better than standing in the passageway,” Iolanthe said, settling herself comfortably into her seat. She’d never been in a club car and so far, while it was dark and cozy, it didn’t reek of spilled liquor or ring with loud, drunken chatter the way Dimitri had claimed they did. Nor, despite being busy, did it seemed to be filled with crude barflies. Most guests were enjoying tea with a snack, although some guests were drinking fruit-trimmed cocktails. During the journey from Nourz to Barsoom he had flatly refused to escort her to the club car for tea, insisting on remaining in the dining car. Her brother was more concerned over her delicate sensibilities than she was.

“Every window on the east side of the train will be lined with people in a few more minutes. As soon as the noise hits us,” Charlton replied. “Tea? And they have bananas flambé for dessert!”

Iolanthe felt herself blush to her toes and began to giggle. She’d thought Mrs. Pondicherry had been lewd, the way she ate her bananas flambé on the journey to Barsoom from Nourz. Several nights in bed with Charlton demonstrated exactly how risqué Mrs. Pondicherry’s behavior had been. No wonder the sot had been entranced. And Dimitri, bug-eyed to the point of incoherence. And every other male diner and waiter within eyeshot. And all the more experienced or married ladies. Basically, everyone in the dining car other than herself, children, and the canaries singing in their cages in the corners.

“What?”

“Let me tell you about Mrs. Pondicherry. We met her on the trip to Barsoom.”

When she finished, Charlton said, “So. No bananas flambé, then. We’ll have cake when we finish our tea and sandwiches.” He winked at her. “You can show me how Mrs. Pondicherry ate bananas when we get back to our compartment.”

Iolanthe flushed harder as heat pooled in her groin.

“Look at all those people walking along the road,” she said.

“Trying to distract me?”

“At least while the waiter is taking our order.”

“True enough.” After Charlton ordered for the two of them, he stared out the window at the crowded road, suddenly pensive and sullen again. “Lannie could be out there.”

“On the Pole-To-Pole road?”

Charlton sighed. “If she decided to walk to Ranaglia, this would be the route. She has no idea what dad did to mama. Or how Mistress Vaughn screwed over our peasants. Or that I was trying to save her and failed.”

Iolanthe stroked Charlton’s hand. “If she is walking to your mother’s demesne, Ulla and Dimitri will find her. And if she’s walking, she would still be back in Barsoom. She couldn’t be this far north, not without a horse and carriage.”

“Yeah. I keep hoping I’ll see her on the road.”

“I know.” And how unlikely that was, Iolanthe thought. Lannie would have had to have found help to get this far and there was no one that they hadn’t already contacted. Could she have found a stranger willing to rescue a damsel in distress? What would that person want in exchange? Lannie wasn’t an adventuress like Mrs. Pondicherry. She also wasn’t a sly-boots like Nelly turned out to be. Matsuda had sent her a lengthy note discussing Nelly’s reputation among the servants of Orlov. It made for painful reading and demonstrated her own naïvety where Nelly was concerned. That sly-boots would be quite comfortable whoring her way up and down the Pole-To-Pole road. Or the Equator road. Mrs. Pondicherry was much higher up the food chain than Nelly was and could demand better treatment than a runaway lady’s maid. And they both were better off than poor Lannie, wherever she was.

Charlton stared out the window. “There! There it is!”

They watched as the rocket reared up from the spaceport over the horizon, a column of thunder and clouds surrounding a silvered tube of metal. The noise from the rocket poured over them and the club car and the entire train, deafening everything with its flood of sound.

When the noise of the rocket receded, a new noise filled the club car. The sound of low booing, hisses of distaste, and floods of cursing from guests and staff alike.

“Those bastards,” Charlton said. “I want to grind them into pâté for what they do to us.”

“Papa said they steal the rare earths from Summerset. We need those rare earths for the terraforming,” Iolanthe said.

“Your dad is right, but they don’t care. They’ve got the rest of the solar system to colonize and Mars will just have to take longer. I guess this load will end up in the cloud cities on Venus where you’d think there were plenty of rare earths floating around without having to steal ours.”

“Look at it this way,” Iolanthe mused. “If they’re colonizing the rest of the solar system, they’re not here, lording it over us. That gives us time to prepare for when they do arrive in force. That’s what papa and uncle Ljubo say.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that. I wonder what we can do on my estates to be better prepared. Or in DelFino. Or in my quad. Those rapacious, bloodsucking bastards will overrun us when Mars is ready for them to walk around outside without rebreathers.”

“Papa was adamant about the timetable. He said it would be our great-grandchildren, or possibly one generation after who would have to deal with them.”

Charlton looked more thoughtful. “That’s decades of time to get ready. Did he say why he was so sure?”

“No. But papa never speculates. He researches thoroughly and he plans for the long-term future of Orlov, even when the sot would get in the way. Although I must admit Olde Earthe was one area where the sot was in full agreement with papa and Uncle Ljubo.”

“Huh. I wonder what Zachery thinks on the subject. The conclave must debate it.”

“And the Martian government. And the merchants’ association. And the government of every free-city, no matter how small and isolated. Along with every citizen’s group, sewing circle, mutual aid association, lodge, and grange.”

“Yeah. We talked about it all the time at the gym.”

Charlton sat back, lost in thought, and Iolanthe breathed a silent sigh of relief. He had something else to focus on, other than Lannie’s mutilated corpse sprawled in some ditch and the Pearls lost to Orlov forever or the ruined estates and starving peasants waiting at his home. Or his mother, who would have to endure the loss of her daughter and the knowledge of her husband’s true character.

She stared out the window at the Pole-To-Pole road; all those people determinedly trudging, on horseback, or riding carts to a future they were choosing of their own free will. Most of them, anyway. It was impossible to guess who was indentured to someone else. There might even be runaway peasants in that mob, hoping for a better future somewhere else. Would Charlton’s peasants be desperate enough to leave his estates in the middle of the night and brave the steppes? If he didn’t work hard enough, proving he cared, they might and he would be worse off than ever.

She had no dowry to cushion the blows, nothing to offer other than herself and her administrative abilities and her willingness to work. And how she was beginning to feel about him; words she didn’t want to say until they knew each other better.

* * *

Walter stood in the townhouse’s garden, staring up at the rocket cleaving the sky in two. His father joined him in time to witness the silvery missile rip into the highest clouds.

“It’s time,” Zachery said when the last of the roar died away, “for you to learn more about what DelFino plans for the future. When those rapacious bastards come back in force.”

“You think about _them_?”

“All the time. That’s one of the reasons I was so pleased when Khan contacted me about you possibly wedding Naomi. Closer ties across the planet will strengthen us when we face _them._ And we will face them, or rather your grandchildren will face _them_.”

Walter kept his eyes on the hole in the sky rather than let his father see his expression. Aunt Ottilie had been most enlightening, after he had sworn on his name to never reveal what she told him about Naomi Khan. Naomi Khan, Ottilie said, was as beautiful as a spring morning when the world was in bloom. But she came with several trainloads of baggage.

He had to do what was best for DelFino, what was best for Mars. He felt grateful again to Ulla, and even more surprised that she, dutiful to a fault, had courted the daimyo’s wrath by hinting about Naomi Khan. If he married Naomi Khan, he would do it with his eyes open, knowing the sacrifice he was making for the betterment of DelFino.

It also made clear that he would never give Naomi Khan his stolen bracelet as a wedding gift. She would provide him with many children and thus many grandchildren, strengthening DelFino, but those descendants would not necessarily be the product of _his_ genes.

She did not deserve the Pearls of Orlov.

The hole in the sky closed up and the rocket vanished on its long journey to Olde Earthe, bearing the stolen wealth of Mars. It was accompanied by Walter’s sour realization that Charlton, worthless black sheep of DelFino, had more choice of a bride than he did.

* * *

Nelly paid little attention as the rocket vanished into the sky. She was paying more attention to the gaping, cursing crowds on the streets at the western end of Barsoom. The mob was openly distracted and there was always the chance someone would drop a fan or a lace handkerchief or even a few coins. She had to find another gentleman friend for the night or she’d have to pay for a hotel room, using her scarce hoard of coin. She’d been lucky ever since she’d arrived in Barsoom and escaped from that soppy Miss Iolanthe. She’d been even luckier to spot and avoid that servant in Orlov livery. Seeing that servant reminded her that she didn’t want to wait in Barsoom too long, despite the possibility of earning more trinkets and coin.

Would someone notice her?

Someone did. Older, but not too old and ready to help a lady in need. Clean cut. Nicely dressed. Maybe she’d get breakfast out of this deal as well as dinner and a bed for the night. She was, after all, a newcomer to Barsoom and so would be properly grateful for a gentleman’s assistance.

* * *

The sky tore itself asunder in flame, smoke, clouds, and a silver missile zoomed upwards, vanishing into the far reaches of the upper atmosphere. The noise was overwhelming.

Lannie gaped at the rocket, leaning against Coppertail’s warm bulk, letting the agitated horse support her. Her feet ached more than ever, but standing still — while painful — was better than walking. As long as Coppertail didn’t step on her feet with his own nervous hooves. He didn’t like the noise at all, making Fen work to keep him calmer.

From Coppertail’s other side, Fen shouted, “I have never seen one of those.”

“I have,” Lannie shouted back.

All around them, everyone had stopped walking, stopped their restive horses, or climbed out of wagons to stare at the sky and mutter curses. As the noise receded, the traffic on the Pole-To-Pole road recovered and began slowly heading northwards again.

“In Barsoom?” Fen asked. “Tell me everything.”

“Why?” Lannie asked. “It’s just a rocket. It’s not like we can do anything about _them_.”

“Maybe so, but I’m gonna try,” Fen said. “HighTower’s not anywhere near Barsoom but even so, eventually those bastards will show up there too and turn us all into slaves.”

“I suppose they will,” Lannie said.

“They definitely will. Mars is the only other world in the solar system where men can walk around outside without a spacesuit and fear of instant death.”

“I hope to be long dead by then,” Lannie snapped. If her feet didn’t stop hurting, she’d be dead much sooner.

“What about making things easier for your great-grandchildren?”

“I…” Lannie stopped, thinking of Rastislav’s coarseness and the obscene things he’d whispered to her about enjoying her body and the sons she would bear him. “I don’t know if I’m going to have children,” she said carefully. “I don’t know if I can do … _that_. What you have to do to have children.”

Fen was silent for long, uncomfortable moments making her deeply afraid she’d offended him by not instantly condemning those Olde Earthe bastards as any right-thinking person over the age of two would.

“I understand,” he said. “I know those DelFino bastards must have hurt you bad. It’s better in the Ennaretee. You’ll see.”

“Okay,” Lannie said, afraid to contradict him in case he decided to abandon her on the spot.

She hadn’t said no. It wasn’t a real agreement, Fen thought, but she hadn’t instantly dismissed him. Maybe he could get Lannie to come with him to HighTower and not continue on to Northernmost as she said she wanted. He had the rest of the journey to Darnay to persuade her, before he had to turn eastwards. What had those bastards done to her that she didn’t want children? Every woman he’d ever met, like every man he’d ever met, looked forward to a child or two. Three if they were very blessed and lucky. None at all, if they turned out to be barren. Then hopes for the future were pinned on nieces and nephews and younger cousins out to six degrees of consanguinity.

How badly had Lannie been mistreated by DelFino and Orlov? He couldn’t let her go back to that hellhole that DelFino so clearly was.


	32. I am not a harpy. I’m a hot blonde and I should dress accordingly.

Dimitri leaned back in his chair in the spacious, exceedingly well-furnished reception room in the Orlov townhouse. He’d been watching Albion preen and strut and act the bereaved and distraught father in front of one private investigator after another for hours. The investigators all seemed much the same to him. He wondered if Albion had clipped out adverts from the newspapers when he made the appointments. It was obvious he hadn’t put any thought into the exercise. The investigators were merely hired policemen, who could go where he could not. The observed differences lay in their levels of deference. Several of the possibilities asked no probing questions at all. Instead, they fawned on Albion — attention he joyously devoured — eager to toady to a member of the Four Hundred.

“Enough,” Dimitri said as soon Albion stopped emoting. “This one seems even more of an idiot than the last. He didn’t bother to ask a single question of you, not even what Yilanda looks like, during your entire spiel.”

The investigator, a Mr. Parminder, stirred himself and said, “two reasons, my lord Orlov. One. I won’t be doing the investigation myself. My employee, John RedHawk, will. Two. John will ask the questions, because I don’t see the need to duplicate efforts.”

“Why are you speaking to him and not to me?” Albion asked in dismay. He’d been performing all day and yet this was the notice he received? That fool Parminder spoke to Dimitri, who’d sat silent as a lump of suet.

“Because, _Mr_. DelFino, I can read a newspaper,” Mr. Parminder replied. He held up both hands and began ticking off fingers. “You have been banned from DelFino for a host of unsavory reasons. You are residing in the Orlov townhouse, the same Orlov whom your daughter jilted at the altar. I assume that Orlov will be paying the bills since you are bankrupt. Why Orlov is paying the bills, I don’t know and frankly, I don’t care, as long as they pay. Nor do I care why they are allowing you to live in their house and helping you locate your daughter, the one who humiliated the daimyo of Orlov. I am speaking to Lord Orlov because the other gentleman in the room remains hidden behind that burgundy velvet screen, the one embroidered with pearls arranged in the Orlov sigil. I assume _he_ will have the final say, but since he does not wish to reveal himself at this time, I will respect his desire for privacy.”

Dimitri felt himself smile. At last. Competence.

“An excellent summation, Mr. Parminder. You, or rather, your agent, John RedHawk, is hired. Send him over at once so we can get started.”

“Very good, my lord Orlov. May I assume the daimyo of Orlov is agreeing to your plans? I don’t need the additional hassle of dealing with infighting within your family, nor do I need trouble with the Four Hundred as a whole or DelFino in particular. Both of those issues will interfere with an investigation.”

“My lord Rastislav is desperate to find Miss DelFino,” Dimitri said. “She is a delightful, charming young lady and, despite her bridal jitters, he fell madly in love with her at first sight. Even if she were to still refuse to wed him, becoming the daimyah of Orlov, he cannot bear the thought of her huddled in some alley, hungry and frightened. Moreover, I swear to you that DelFino will not hinder your investigation.”

Mr. Parminder gave Dimitri a long, cool assessing look.

“Of course, my lord. Your reasons are your own, as long as you pay the bills and I don’t have trouble with the Four Hundred.”

“And what about me?” Albion sputtered. “That’s my little girl you’re looking for. I want her found!”

Mr. Parminder gave Albion a similar long, cool assessing look. “I’m sure you do, Mr. DelFino. Just as I’m sure you do not pay your own bills.”

“He does not,” Dimitri said. “I do.” There was no point in lying to this perceptive private investigator, other than on the most critical issue of all. “The daimyo will agree with me. Have John RedHawk bring your contract. We’ve wasted enough time looking for Yilanda on our own.”

Mr. Parminder stood and bowed to Dimitri and then more deeply towards the burgundy velvet screen. He ignored Albion. “It will be done. John RedHawk is extremely thorough and dogged. If anyone can find Yilanda DelFino, it will be him.”

Dimitri pulled the bell cord and when the butler arrived, he said, “Matsuda, Mr. Parminder is hired. He’ll be sending his agent, John RedHawk, over. The daimyo and I expect full cooperation from you and the staff.”

“Yes, sir,” Matsuda replied. “The other applicants?”

“Send them on their way.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Mr. Parminder left the room, the door closed behind him for privacy, Rastislav came out from behind the screen. Dimitri concealed his surprise. He kept expecting Rastislav to leap out continuously during the interviews yet the daimyo had demonstrated unprecedented self-control. It was …. worrying.

“My lord daimyo,” Dimitri said. “May I assume you approve of my choice?”

“I approve. This one was intelligent enough to know I was behind the screen, unlike the rest of those worthless slobbos Albion dredged up,” Rastislav said.

“A glass of wine, my lord?” Albion asked, anxious to be included and to curry favor.

“No.”

Dimitri felt his eyes widen. The sot never turned down a glass of wine. He must have made some larger, visible reaction because the sot turned on him.

“Do you think I cannot control myself, Dimitri?”

“I would never say that, my lord.”

“Liar.” Rastislav gazed longingly towards the tantalus on the marble side table. Albion had gone ahead and poured a glass of wine for himself, not offering one to Dimitri.

“You have wretched manners, Albion,” Rastislav said pointedly. “There are other people in the room.”

Albion forced out a placating smile. “My deepest apologies. I was overcome by the chance of rescuing my dearest little girl.”

“Liar.”

“Are you feeling well, my lord?” Dimitri asked. “The open house at Sakamoto last night was a difficult evening for you and you do not look fully recovered from their disrespect. Your skin is ashy and your hands are trembling.”

“You are so caring of me, Dimitri, in a way that you normally never are. Why do I not trust you?”

The sot was sober, Dimitri realized with a shock. Badly hungover and yet he was refusing alcohol. Sober, the sot would be far more difficult to manipulate. Rastislav had never been a stupid man.

“I am sorry you do not,” Dimitri replied suavely. “If I have been uncaring in the past, well, you were not as considerate as you could have been towards my sister, Iolanthe. But that is in the past. We face far larger problems than a family squabble.” He heaved a theatrical sigh. “Madame Orlov spoke to me again last night in my dreams. She remonstrated with me quite severely. We must recover the Pearls. You must be returned to your rightful place as head of Orlov. Nothing else matters.” He smacked his hand on the marble tabletop with each of his three final words.

Rastislav stared at him for a long, long moment and then smiled, revealing his yellowed teeth. “Madame Orlov spoke to me as well. She was pleased you got me home.”

“I, I merely did my duty to you, my lord,” Dimitri said, flustered. “As any loyal member of the family would.” Madame Orlov said that to the sot? Was it remotely possible that she was real? He pushed aside the notion as madness. Rastislav’s addled brain was using the events of the previous evening to produce the dream.

“And I helped,” Albion said, pushing himself forward.

“Shut up,” Rastislav barked, an ugly expression on his face.

Albion retreated to the sofa, sat, and sipped his wine, emptying the glass slowly as he didn’t dare get up for a refill and draw more attention to himself. It was readily apparent how much the sot wanted to take out his fury on someone and because of Yilanda’s bridal jitters and thievery, he was the primary target.

“Madame Orlov was angry,” Rastislav said slowly. “As angry as I have ever seen. My father was with her.”

Dimitri paled and gasped audibly.

“You never met him, Dimitri,” Rastislav said.

“No, my lord daimyo. Papa and Uncle Ljubo have spoken of him on occasion.”

“No matter what they said, they did not say enough about how vicious that man was,” Rastislav replied. “I was a breath of fresh air for Orlov.”

“Yes, my lord,” Dimitri agreed dutifully. The more the sot spoke, the more he could learn of his mindset. What he said about his father was also true.

“They both insisted that I could not drink again. Not until my Yilanda is returned to me with the Pearls of Orlov. Then, when our first son is born, Madame Orlov told me I could once again have a glass of wine.”

“She is wise, my lord. A guidance to us in these troubled times,” Dimitri said, thinking madly over the ramifications of a sober, thinking Rastislav. He’d have to warn papa, uncle Ljubo, and Morley at once. “My congratulations on your strength of character.”

Barking mad, Albion thought from his perch on the sofa, safely out of range — he hoped — of thrown punches but not thrown glassware. I’ve got to get out of here but where can I go where no one can find me? Or more importantly, where Goryonov’s long reach can’t find me.

“She is wise.” Rastislav walked over to the tantalus and lifted the decanter of red wine and peered through the cut crystal glass to the red, red contents within. “I will be strong.” He set the decanter back on the marble tabletop with a thud.

“I want that investigator to do one other task.”

“Yes, my lord?” Dimitri asked.

“My valet told me what that Nelly did to your sister.”

“Yes, sir,” Dimitri said, not knowing what else to say other than to keep the sot talking. He’d never seen Rastislav act this way before. But that also explained the shouting he’d heard when he returned from seeing Charlton and Iolanthe off to the train station. That must have been when the valet finally told the daimyo about the maid’s treachery. Yet, very worryingly, the sot hadn’t poured a bottle of wine down his throat in response.

“That spoilt bitch doxy. I do not like your sister, Dimitri.” Rastislav stared straight at Dimitri, his eyes rheumy and bloodshot. “She is ugly, stupid, rude and disrespectful. But she is Orlov. That Nelly, that sly-boots of a housemaid, belonged to Orlov, to _me_. Stealing your sister’s jewelry and defacing her garments and running off is unacceptable. I want Nelly found and returned to Orlov where I can punish her for her betrayal and thievery. I will make an example of her to the rest of the serfs.”

Rastislav didn’t add what he could never admit to. He wanted Mrs. Pondicherry found and punished for _her_ theft but searching for her meant admitting how much of a fool he had been with that traitorous adventuress. Worse, Mrs. Pondicherry would tell people what he had allowed her to do to him and made him enjoy. It was deviant and unmanly. Nelly, though. He could pour his fury at Mrs. Pondicherry out on Nelly and his relatives, living and dead, would heartily approve.

Dimitri felt himself smile widely in approval. “A most excellent idea, my lord Rastislav. That Nelly deserves whatever punishment you deem necessary.”

“I will make sure she regrets her brazen disloyalty and insolence to her dying day,” Rastislav said coldly. “Her punishment will remind every serf in Orlov who they serve and who they belong to.” And if I ever locate Mrs. Pondicherry, I will murder her with my own hands.

Albion watched their open pleasure over punishing a runaway housemaid with nausea and pushed himself further into the soft cushions on the burgundy velvet sofa as if velvet cushions offered some protection. He had to find a way to escape Orlov as well as his creditors. If he had some of the Pearls, it would be easy. But Pearls or not, he had to flee for his own safety. The question was how and when, while still avoiding low-caste, day labor status.

* * *

Ulla returned to the DelFino townhouse from her fruitless errand to the Great Hospital’s morgue. She was deeply grateful it was fruitless. Lannie had not been there, laid out on a marble slab and bathed in icy water to keep her body fresh until she was identified. From now on, the staff would notify her if any young women were brought in.

Would the police think of checking the morgue? It was likely, Ulla thought, but she couldn’t guarantee it and she hadn’t thought to ask the desk sergeant at the police substation near Burroughs Park. She would have visited the main police station in Barsoom after the morgue, but Lesten had persuaded her to let the police do their job without being harassed.

“They may move more slowly if you do, Miss Ulla. I don’t know that they would, but give them a day to work.” He could see how distraught she was becoming. He had to get her home, at least for a short rest.

Ulla thought again of Lannie, sprawled dead in some alley. But then wouldn’t her body have been brought to the morgue? She’d insisted and gotten her way, despite the protests of the staff, and examined each body in the morgue that was female, young, or both.

It had been dreadful. Nauseating didn’t begin to express how it felt.

It had been wonderful. Lannie hadn’t been there.

Maybe, Ulla thought, as she climbed the steps to the townhouse for a much-needed rest and meal, things were looking up. Maybe Lannie had found someone to help her and that’s why her body wasn’t in the morgue.

Maybe Lannie had been helped by slavers and was someplace far worse than the morgue. The bodies in the morgue no longer felt pain or fear or grief or exhaustion. Everyone alive did, but not them. They had moved onwards to a different plane of existence.

Grimaldi opened the door for her as always, then said, “You have mail, Miss Ulla.”

“No one knew I’d be in Barsoom.”

“It was forwarded from DelFino Castle, Miss Ulla.”

“Oh. I’ll read it in the morning room, with tea, please, and whatever the cook has ready to eat.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Once in the morning room, Ulla relaxed. She’d eat, read her correspondence, and make a list of what to do next.

Her rest period did not last long.

“Ulla,” Aunt Ottilie said, coming into the room. “There you are.”

“Yes, Aunt Ottilie,” Ulla said dismally. “Here I am.” Damnation. She should have asked for a tray and hidden in her bedchamber, behind a locked door.

“Don’t get pert with me, young lady. You need to prepare for your dinner meeting this evening. A charming, well-connected, high-status young man, Silas Avongale. My home demesne in case you’d forgotten.”

“How nice,” Ulla muttered. “Not at Chez Gramscee, I hope?”

“No. You’ll be dining at the Willows. You can’t search for Yilanda continuously. Life does go on and you need to find a high-status match befitting both you and DelFino,” Ottilie said.

The door opened again and a footman brought Ulla a tray with sandwiches, soup, tea, and a letter.

Ulla looked at the tray, her appetite gone, looked at her expectant aunt, and searched for the proper response.

“May I order something for you, aunt Ottilie?”

To Ulla’s amazement, Ottilie looked both pleased and surprised. Aha! She had demonstrated a social grace. That was why.

“No, that won’t be necessary at the moment. Who is your letter from?”

“Elise Choudhury.”

“Very good, Ulla. Another wallflower like you, no doubt, but wallflowers often know the important details about demesnes that aren’t necessarily made public. Choudhury is close to Khan, is it not?”

“Yes, aunt Ottilie, it is. And yes, I’ve heard the most amazing stories about Naomi Khan from Elise Choudhury.”

“Very good, Ulla.” Ottilie smiled her reptilian smile. “You can tell me all of them when you finish reading this letter.”

“Yes, aunt Ottilie.”

Ulla took a fortifying sip of tea, then slit open the envelope with a letter opener. Unlike a table knife, the letter opener was as sharp as a dagger. Maybe she should smuggle it into the Willows, since their table knives were going to be just as dull as Chez Gramscee’s.

Then she read Elise Choudhury’s letter and began to laugh.

“And what, pray tell, is so amusing, Ulla?” Ottilie asked.

“Elise Choudhury is forwarding a request from her penpal, Cressida Khan, about opening a correspondence between me and Iolanthe Orlov, who is Cressida’s penpal. Iolanthe is desperate to know more about DelFino.”

Ottilie pursed her lips. “For a reasonably bright young woman, Iolanthe was slow off the mark. She should have asked for this introduction months ago.”

“Yes, she should have.” Ulla studied the letter again, her mind working rapidly. “Aunt Ottilie. Who would you recommend I write to at Keerkehgard? I don’t know anyone there and I certainly can’t ask Lady Mairéad. She’ll never speak to us again.”

“Lady Mairéad will never speak to _you_ again, Ulla. I, on the other hand, she will speak to.” Ottilie stopped, her expression suddenly amused and tapped her fingers on the table. “Or rather, she’ll speak to you and anyone in DelFino the instant it becomes important. She is Keerkehgard’s matchmaker, after all, and we are DelFino.”

“Then why didn’t she know what Andreas and Harcourt were like?” Ulla demanded.

“Don’t be naïve. She knew. But despite their viciousness, it was her job to find them wives and you qualify in every way.”

Ulla thought suddenly of Yair Buruk. He didn’t qualify in any way, yet he had been helpful and considerate and had asked nothing in return, not even money for his dream of a hotel. He had been forceful about her going to the police, even perhaps rude, but he’d been correct.

“No one should marry either of those two sods,” she said, wondering why Yair didn’t qualify when Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard did.

Ottilie smiled and her eyes darted to the letter opener. “Thanks to Charlton, no one ever will. Why do you wish to write to someone in Keerkehgard? Planning on a visit to ensure those boys remain permanently bedridden by slashing their hamstrings?”

Ulla studied the letter in her hand, thought of the rocket leaping across the void to Olde Earthe, then met Ottilie’s cold eyes. “No, although that would be the sensible thing to do. But Zachery was correct. We do have to work with them. If I plant the seeds now, we may have less trouble in the future. Walter and Charlton especially need less trouble in the future. Walter set them up, you know, and I think Andreas realized it just before Charlton pureed him and his brother into soup.”

Ottilie sat back in consternation. “No, I did not know Walter was involved. Eat your lunch. I will order some tea for myself, and we’ll have a long, long chat.” She smiled her reptilian smile. “You are brighter than your mother. You must take after your father, whoever he was.”

“Do you enjoy being deliberately cruel?” Ulla hissed.

“Am I cruel or am I accurate? Put the letter opener down, Ulla,” Ottilie said firmly. “I am the best matchmaker DelFino has ever had and if you examine the matches I made, you will realize that I am correct. Your father, I am speaking here of the man who raised you, is a good man — if dull and boring — but he was woefully mismatched to your mother. I would have never made that match, despite how supposedly good it was for DelFino at the time.”

“You just don’t like my mother and you’re taking it out on me.”

“Your mother makes it easy to dislike her. She’s also quite stupid as well as being entranced by superficial qualities such as good looks and smooth patter. I would have matched your mother, if I’d been forced to accept her into DelFino, to Albion. Not Jorge, your father. I would have matched your father to Constance They would have been happy, once she came to understand how deeply your father cares, despite not having the vocabulary needed to express his emotions.”

Ulla looked at the letter opener in her hand and carefully set it down so she didn’t fling it into Ottilie’s evil heart. “You just like being cruel, pushing real people with real feelings around like paper dolls.”

“I like being accurate and I like my marriages to work well.”

“Then what’s wrong with Iolanthe?” Ulla demanded.

Ottilie groaned ostentatiously and rolled her eyes. “Did you not listen to a word I have said since my arrival? Iolanthe has no family backing, which DelFino wants, no dowry, which Charlton needs desperately, and, despite what those quacks in Nourz told her, that twisted hip will make labor and delivery intensely painful. She will probably be able to carry an infant to term. Birthing that infant will be quite another matter.”

“Oh.”

“Since Charlton will not listen to reason, if Iolanthe is blessed with children, they will have to make travel arrangements to deliver those babies in DelFino Castle, rather than rely on some wretched, ignorant village midwife out in the middle of nowhere. Or, quite possibly, every baby she delivers will have to be born at the Great Hospital’s obstetrics ward. Just in case she needs emergency surgery.”

Ottilie glared at Ulla until she sat back down again. “Think, Ulla. I know you can. Do you wish for Charlton to choose between having his wife live or their child live? Because Iolanthe’s hip is damaged, affecting her pelvic bones, he may be forced make that cruel choice.”

“That is horrible,” Ulla mumbled.

“That is reality. I hope that outcome does not happen, but I cannot discount the very real possibility that it will. I would have required that Iolanthe be examined by a qualified physician at the Great Hospital prior to ever introducing her to Charlton. But I was not given that opportunity as our daimyo fancies himself a matchmaker and so here we are. Eat your soup. It’s getting cold.”

Ulla dutifully took a mouthful of tepid soup. It tasted like nothing, but it was nourishing so she ate it anyway.

The door opened and a footman answered Ottilie’s summons via the bellpull. When he left with her order, Ottilie turned back to Ulla.

“We also need to discuss further exactly what you want in a husband since you have either rejected all of my previous selections or they have rejected you. Would Dimitri Orlov do? Grimaldi tells me you and Dimitri searched for Yilanda together without killing each other. He seems a fine figure of a man, but I will remind you that the Orlov family is barking mad and they cast out relatives who displease them without so much as a bent copper penny.”

Ulla choked on a mouthful of soup.

“He’s a dumb slobbo, so dumb he thinks I don’t know what he so clearly thinks of me.” She steeled herself, wishing again she’d taken a tray in her bedchamber instead of braving the morning room. She’d have to rethink that choice in the future. “He thinks I’m a bossy, know-it-all harpy. It’s so obvious, it’s painful.”

“I see,” Ottilie said with a moue of distaste. “One of _those_ gentlemen. He wants a soft, dainty, fluffy little wife who’s lovely, sweet, and competent enough to completely conceal her competence from him.”

Ulla snickered. “That sounds accurate.”

“I am always accurate.”

“Then why are you so nasty? I would think that you’d get better results if you were more pleasant.”

“You are so naïve, Ulla. Sweet and pleasant matchmakers get lied to by other matchmakers looking to palm off vicious sods like Andreas and Harcourt Keerkehgard. No one lies to me. I know where all their bodies are buried.”

“Do they know where your heaps of bodies are buried?”

Ottilie smiled and this time, for the first time ever, there was warmth in her smile.

“Very good, Ulla. No, they only know about some of them. Now. You have become a challenge. Tell me everything you liked and disliked about all the young men you’ve met. I have kept a list and I expect you to be honest and detailed. Then tell me everything you know about Naomi Khan followed by the Choudhury family. In return, I will solve Keerkehgard’s need for revenge on Walter. Charlton will take a bit more thought and time.”

“You can do that?”

“Naturally. Our dear daimyo has already provided me the solution for Walter.”

Ulla glanced at the ormolu clock ticking her life away on the mantlepiece. She’d never escape until it was time to dress for dinner with another blind date at the Willows and get humiliated again for her pains. “Anything else?”

“I’ll let you know.”

* * *

The end of another endless, weary day. It hadn’t rained. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky. Instead, the sun had beaten down on them since the fiery ball rose in the east until the moment it sank into the west. Night brought cooler air, making the rough ground feel chilly. Fen had taken care to find them a tiny campsite well away from the Pole-To-Pole road before it got too dark to see. Barsoom was left behind, or so he said. It was true that the buildings had gotten smaller, more clustered together with wider open spaces between them but Lannie had been too tired to care.

Fen had made tea and they’d eaten more mil-rats as they huddled around his tiny campfire. The wrappers of this batch, gotten at the waystation along with the water, claimed they were limon. They didn’t taste like any citrus fruit Lannie had ever eaten. They didn’t taste like rancid citrus fruit either, which had concerned her for about thirty seconds. They just tasted sour, but they were food and she was hungry so she didn’t say anything. She was reaching the point where she didn’t care.

Fen had eaten his bricks uncomplainingly, just as he never complained about anything. He moved through each wearying endless day like an Olde Earthe automaton, Lannie thought. He wouldn’t want to hear her complaints and whining about her feet or her tiredness or wanting to eat anything other than a mil-rat. His bruises had become rainbow colored, but the swelling on his face was going down and she could see his face better. He was actually not bad-looking, despite the scruffy beard and how he probably smelled.

They probably both smelled terrible, but her nose had given up in despair. Everyone around them on the Pole-T0-Pole road smelled much the same. Too many people, stumbling away from Barsoom, whose only bathing facilities were the rain.

Her feet hurt so badly. Lannie was becoming afraid to take her boots off; afraid of what she would find. She hadn’t had those damn boots off her feet since she’d put them on in the chapel at the cathedral. Instead of becoming easier, walking was becoming harder and harder. Her feet slipped inside the boots. They hurt. They burned. It was exhausting and she was even more afraid of complaining than she was of taking them off, even when they slept.

She was so bleary with fatigue, she wasn’t sure anymore if Fen took his boots off to sleep. If she took her boots off, he might not give her time to get them back on again in the morning when they left for another endless, exhausting day, walking north on the Pole-T0-Pole road.

She wasn’t sure if she cared, just as she no longer cared if they slept on stemmy, poking grass swarming with bugs or huddled up against the side of someone’s filthy outbuilding, hiding from the rain under an eave. The biting flies were a minor annoyance compared to her feet. She wasn’t sure if she cared anymore if Rastislav found her and dragged her back to Orlov by her hair. She wouldn’t have to walk.

She no longer fretted about the night sounds of insects and birds or other, larger predators. All she wanted to do when Fen made camp was flop down and fall into the oblivion that sleep brought. Sleep meant she wasn’t walking, although she walked and walked and walked in her dreams. But her feet didn’t hurt.

* * *

Despite his fatigue, Fen could not sleep. Lannie had dropped off instantly, asleep before she closed her eyes. She was so warm. It was amazing how much warmth she generated, wrapped up in his wool blanket and huddled up next to him on the chilly dirt.

Or maybe that was him.

His body was refusing to obey him and it was hard to think rationally around her when his cock had other, thrillingly incandescent ideas. He wondered if he could slip off and do what needed to be done, while she slept undisturbed. Just like last night and every night since she’d begged him for help at the livery stable. It would relieve the pressure and let him regain at least _some_ control over himself.

She was so brave, so uncomplaining. It made him think harder about why she had been so desperate to flee Barsoom. He’d met plenty of girls in Barsoom and he couldn’t imagine any of them complaining about the hardships of the journey less than Lannie. It was plain she was exhausted. It was equally plain she’d never eaten a mil-rat in her life or drunk from a waterskin. Or slept on the ground, outside. Or spent the entire day from dawn till dusk on her feet, trudging along the Pole-To-Pole road despite having a horse available. She hadn’t demanded to ride Coppertail — despite how hard he’d worked his gelding escaping the city and what he’d said about Coppertail needing rest too — and he’d been expecting _that_. She knew nothing about taking care of a horse (very strange when she did know the rudiments of riding) yet on that subject she did understand. Horses weren’t Olde Earthe clockwork automatons. They got tired and had to rest and be cared for, just like a person would.

Why had she fled? Maybe he should ask in the morning. He had a duty now to Lannie, to keep her safe. But he also had a duty, a much larger one, to all of HighTower. His Hands were depending on him to return alive and in one piece. Kavan and Dawud had made that very clear. Pello and Helion, despite being Hands of Kenyatta, had said the same. Fen just wished he was bringing back saddlebags loaded with coin along with himself, the receipt for the paid loan, and the stamped document from his vote at the regional zemstvo. He had some coin; both what he’d saved for the journey and hadn’t spent and what he’d won as booty, but every one of those coins was earmarked ten times over upon his return.

And Lannie. If he brought Lannie home to HighTower, he would have guaranteed a wife and fertility to the demesne, no matter who she chose.

It wouldn’t be him. She’d have her pick of the unmarried Hands and vaqueros, all more competent and capable than he was. Besides which, he was expected to marry a lady from the Four Hundred (whose dowry would be instantly spent on the needs of the demesne) and not some random runaway from the streets of Barsoom.

Why had she run?

His mind was running in circles. He carefully got up and moved far enough away so that Lannie wouldn’t wake up and know what he was doing, embarrassing both of them. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, what she would look like without that huge coverall drowning her slim body, those heavy, clumping boots, what her hair would look like, loose and free of those straggling loops of braids. How her mouth would taste if he kissed her. If she would let him, a complete stranger, kiss her.

Back at Lannie’s side, lying unconscious from exhaustion, Fen stripped off his boots and snuggled up next to her. Coppertail, hobbled nearby, snorted with open contempt. Well, he would. A gelding didn’t care about this particular fleshy issue.

The morning would be better, Fen thought. Coppertail was rested up, enough that they might be able to ride pillion again and make better time on the endless journey north. Every day would involve long periods of walking, but they’d still move faster than they had been.

* * *

Ulla stared at herself in the mirror in her bedchamber. Well turned out as always. Not trendsetting, but stylish enough. Another dreary dinner date awaited her, this time with Silas, a charming, well-placed, high-status, interchangeable young man from Avongale who (along with his family) must have already heard the gossip about her dinner with the Keerkehgard boys at Chez Gramscee. Unfortunately, Zachery and Ottilie had been clear. If she didn’t go, she’d be sent back home to DelFino in disgrace which meant she couldn’t search for Lannie in Barsoom. She’d have to rely on the police and whatever DelFino townhouse servants she could persuade to keep looking in-between their own duties.

Ottilie had made her reasons plain enough and it wasn’t a surprise. Lannie no longer had much value as a DelFino bride and because of Albion, she had no dowry and the daimyo wouldn’t provide one from DelFino’s coffers. Surprisingly, Ottilie had pursed her lips in open disapproval when she made that statement. Charlton didn’t have the coin to spare for his sister’s dowry, considering the disaster he was going home to.

Ulla, on the other hand, had value as a DelFino bride and Ottilie planned to extract every possible drop from an advantageous marriage. It would be, Ottilie insisted, good for Ulla, good for DelFino, and good for whatever charming, well-placed, high-status young man’s demesne she married into. It might even be good for the young man, Ulla thought dryly.

Zachery, though, was becoming a huge disappointment as the daimyo. As the daimyo, he should have cared more. Lannie, whatever the sins of her worthless rotted ham of a father, was still a DelFino. She hadn’t done anything wrong as long as you didn’t consider jilting the daimyo of Orlov and stealing the Pearls of Orlov a crime. Having seen Rastislav, Ulla had come to believe Lannie had chosen the most sensible, practical alternative, considering the immense pressure she was under and how poorly she thought things through.

Poor Lannie. Ulla shut her eyes at her reflection. Poor her. It felt like she didn’t have any more choice than Lannie did. Lannie had done her duty to her father and to DelFino, met Rastislav, and promptly run off at her earliest opportunity. Ulla wondered if Lannie’s snap decision, despite not being properly dutiful or well-thought out, wasn’t the braver, more practical choice. Except that Lannie was lost, along with the Pearls of Orlov.

A knock sounded at her door.

“Miss Ulla?” the maid asked. “A note for you from Dimitri Orlov.”

A reprieve, Ulla thought, even if only a short one, and took the envelope. She slit it open with the letter opener, brought up from the morning room. Dimitri’s note was short and to the point. Orlov had hired a private investigative firm, as he had said they would. He said he would keep her posted on their progress in finding Lannie, and that Nelly too.

Ulla wondered if he meant it. What mattered to Orlov was recovering the Pearls, not finding Lannie. If retrieving the Pearls meant handing Lannie over to slavers, then Orlov would do it. They’d say differently in public, but they wouldn’t do differently. She stared at Dimitri’s confident scrawl. Zachery would do the same. So would any daimyo. The needs of one person didn’t amount to a handful of sand compared to the needs of the demesne as a whole and, well, the serfs of Orlov had some value too. Or at least so Dimitri claimed. Lannie had no value anymore, other than to her, to Charlton, to Iolanthe, and to auntie Constance. She certainly wasn’t as valuable as the Pearls of Orlov.

But why was Orlov wasting resources looking for a runaway housemaid, even if she was a disloyal thief? It wasn’t like Lannie and that Nelly knew each other and had run away together, dragging the Pearls behind them.

Ulla returned her attention to the mirror. She worked so hard to do her duty to DelFino and she’d work equally hard for whatever demesne she married into. Was it worth it? Didn’t the individual person matter at least a little bit? If she said no, then Lannie’s disappearance didn’t matter, other than because she was carrying the Pearls of Orlov. Damn those Pearls. They blighted everything they touched.

Iolanthe mattered to Charlton; enough that they married in front of the justice of the peace, sending a signal that couldn’t be ignored to the Four Hundred. Enough that he defied the daimyo of DelFino. Enough that he revealed his father’s perfidy to the newspapers of Barsoom despite the cost to him. Enough that he took Iolanthe, penniless and lame, home to his estates and before he did, he asked her if she still wanted to step into a lifetime of hard work in the poorest corner of DelFino.

It was a darn good thing Iolanthe claimed she could manage a castle, Ulla thought. She’d need those skills because there wouldn’t be any money forthcoming from DelFino coffers. Zachery was angry enough about Albion, Charlton, and Lannie that he, despite it being DelFino land, was keeping the purse strings tightly closed. How could Zachery claim he was doing the right thing by DelFino when Charlton’s peasants might starve?

No wonder Walter could claim he always did right by DelFino when what he meant was that he did what he pleased.

She didn’t do what she pleased. She did her duty. And her duty was to meet a blind date at the Willows so she could stay in Barsoom and search for Lannie. Whether her blind date was a third-rate also-ran or one of Avongale’s frontrunners, it was a given that he already thought of her as a boring, screeching harpy.

“Ulla!” Ottilie hadn’t bothered knocking. She moved on cat feet, silent until the moment she pounced. “You look acceptable. We don’t want to be late, now do we.”

“But I’m not fashionable?” Ulla asked, stalling in case inspiration struck. It really was a loss not having an imagination.

Ottilie smirked. “You’re an attractive young woman, but no, you are never fashionable. You are dressed correctly, if boringly sedate. No one can carp over your beige attire, other than that it demonstrates no sense of individual taste or flair.”

Ulla looked at her reflection again and inspiration did strike. “How right you are, auntie Ottilie. I’m going to change my clothes.”

“We don’t have time,” Ottilie said.

“I’ll be quick and if that young man from Avongale can’t wait a few minutes in one of the nicest restaurants in Barsoom, then he and Avongale weren’t really interested in a DelFino bride, were they?”

“No,” Ottilie said with a hint of approval. “They weren’t.”

* * *

“Are you sure, Miss Ulla?” her maid asked.

“Yes, Natha,” Ulla replied. “I am.”

* * *

“Wow!” Walter said and sat up, blinking in shock. “Isn’t that Cloris’s dress? The one her parents had a fit over when she bought it? It’s, um, a really new look for you, Ulla. I didn’t know you had such a nice, uh, wow.” Walter shut his mouth firmly.

Ulla twirled in the hallway in front of Walter, Zachery, Ottilie, Grimaldi, and a few hovering, discreetly ogling footmen.

“That’s quite low-cut and very fitted, Ulla,” Zachery said, radiating disapproval. “It’s far too sophisticated for a young lady your age.”

“If you wanted to make an impression on Silas Avongale, you will, despite that dress being Cloris’s discard,” Ottilie said. “He’ll think twice before dismissing you as an unattractive harpy.”

Ulla smiled smugly. “I am not a harpy. I’m a hot blonde and I should dress accordingly.”

Yair would like to see me in this dress, although he’s already seen most of my legs when I climbed onto the window sill at the Apothecary building at the Great Hospital, she thought. Maybe he’ll be waiting tables at the Willows. That would be nice. I can tell him about visiting the morgue. She patted her fashionable bag, selected from the overflowing closet because it matched and was big enough to hold the letter opener. She was ready.


	33. how to get blood poisoning 101

Dawn, as always, came far too early. Lannie had never in her previous life risen at dawn. She never had to, even when away at school. Rising at dawn was something servants did, preparing the house with whatever her family needed for the day when they arose at their leisure.

The sun pouring down forced her awake. Fen was already stirring. He woke up every morning as bright and fresh as a daisy, darn him. Lannie kept her eyes firmly shut against the sunrise wishing desperately she didn’t have to get moving within minutes. Her feet ached, despite being off them for the night. Each morning was worse.

She couldn’t think of anything she could do to slow down Fen as he started another tiny fire and set up his tiny rocket stove to boil water for tea. Once they’d chewed their way through more mil-rats and he’d taken care of Coppertail, Fen would break camp and then they’d be off; starting another endless, dreary day of trudging northwards along with everyone else on Mars.

Her legs didn’t hurt as much. That was something. Maybe, Lannie thought, she was toughening up. If only her feet would. She watched Fen through slitted eyes as he swiftly combed out his long, long braid and then rebraided it with nimble fingers. His hair was longer than hers.

His hair. He was combing his hair. Gods above but Ulla was right. She just didn’t think even when the answer was staring her in the face.

Lannie made herself sit up, trying and failing not to groan. Sleeping on the ground would never measure up to a bed.

“You’re up,” Fen said cheerfully. “Tea?” He held out his kuksa with a happy smile just like every morning since she’d met him at the livery stable. Sleeping on rocky, stemmy, twiggy, cold, hard, bug-infested ground didn’t bother him and he did it without the barrier of a blanket, letting her enjoy its protection.

“Yes, thank you,” Lannie answered, taking his kuksa and drinking a fortifying swallow. Did she dare? What would he say? It would slow down the morning. She’d stay off her feet for a few precious minutes and she really, really needed to do something about her hair.

“May I borrow your comb?” she asked tentatively. “My hair is just awful. I haven’t combed it since I met you and the braids are coming out and, and, and, …”

Her voice trailed off at his expression.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to,” she babbled, wishing she’d never opened her mouth.

“No, no. Here,” Fen said, wide-eyed and blinking, and handed over the comb. It had been carved from creamy horn and the wide back was etched with the same brand Coppertail sported on his hindquarters.

Lannie forced out a smile and her thanks, despite feeling uneasy. She had the distinct impression she had transgressed some boundary but she couldn’t think of what it was, other than sharing a stranger’s comb. His hair couldn’t be any dirtier than hers was by now.

Her braids were already coming apart and she’d lost most of the hairpins holding them in place. Nonetheless, Lannie took her time picking apart the braids and combing out her hair smooth, before replaiting into two braids, one on each side, like the peasant girls in DelFino did. There was no possible way she could rebraid her hair into a more complex style without a mirror and a lady’s maid and a pile of hairpins. As it was, the braids would come out by the end of the day since she didn’t have ribbons to tie them closed.

Fen watched her intently during the entire process.

“What?” Lannie finally asked. “I’ll clean your comb as soon as we get fresh water at a waystation.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Fen mumbled.

Her hair. He was seeing her hair. She was combing it out in front of him like he was her lover. His body did not want to behave and he couldn’t think at all, only imagine what it would feel like to run his fingers through Lannie’s long, dark, thick hair like his comb was getting to do. He knew exactly how long and thick it was now. He wouldn’t have to imagine what her hair looked like when it was loose. He knew and he could better imagine what it would feel like if she let him comb out her hair with his fingers. He wanted to unbutton his pants on the spot but he couldn’t leave for a few minutes of privacy because he couldn’t leave Lannie alone on the steppes and he sure couldn’t admit why he needed to step away for the time it would take. Not long, that was certain, but it wasn’t like a normal, understandable body function. It would sound different, it would smell different, and he’d be terminally embarrassed and so would she. And worse, he didn’t know what those DelFino ristos had done to her and the last thing he wanted to do to Lannie with her beautiful, lustrous dark brunette hair was to make her even more inclined to look on a man, any man, with fear.

“Are you alright?” Lannie asked. Fen looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

“I’m fine. Don’t stop on my account,” Fen replied. “Let me pour you some more tea.” Pouring the tea let him turn away for a moment and quickly adjust himself so he didn’t terrify Lannie with his cock’s eager response. She wouldn’t know he was nothing like those DelFino bastards. He would never hurt her.

“You’ll keep your hair like that?”

“Um, yes?” Lannie told Fen’s rigid back. “It will be easier. Easier to sleep in too.”

“Good idea,” Fen managed. His pulse raced. Every single man they passed, all the way to Darnay, would know how long Lannie’s hair was. The only solace was that none of them, unless they met someone from the Ennaretee, would know what it meant. He had to remind himself that she didn’t know what it meant. Only he did.

After chewing through mil-rats (the wrapper claimed wintenberry but they tasted like denied dreams), Fen stretched and got up again to break camp. He hadn’t said one word to Lannie during the meal and she wondered again what boundary she had transgressed by combing out her hair. It wasn’t like she’d used his comb to work knots out of Coppertail’s mane and tail, just her own rat’s nest.

He was swift, as always, and she stayed out of the way, focusing her energy on getting to her feet, finding a private spot to pee, and stumbling back to their campsite. Fen had chosen, for reasons known only to him, a low spot tucked against a rock outcropping. No trees for shade, but they were in an open patch of steppes with some space between them, the cultivated fields stretching to the horizon, and some distant outbuildings. Maybe that was why, Lannie thought, looking around and paying attention for the first time to where they’d spent the night. No one would bother them and they wouldn’t be seen. Her conclusion felt right and she felt a burst of pride that let her start trudging up the low hill that separated them from the road.

It was still early enough that whoever worked the fields hadn’t yet come out to weed and hoe. Lannie thought she recognized leafy yam vines and realized to her chagrin that she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t paid attention to what the peasants on the estate grew to feed everyone. Ulla would know. So would Walter and, yes, even Charlton might although daddy certainly wouldn’t. Neither would mama. If she was still alive.

She had to figure out a way to send a message to Charlton about her suspicions of daddy. It wasn’t like Charlton would figure it out all by himself.

As they forged through the knee-high grass, her feet began to burn, like stinging bugs had crawled inside her boots or coals leapt in from the fire. She concentrated on walking; blocking out the rising sun, the sound of the rustling grass, holding onto Coppertail’s comforting bulk separating her from Fen and most of all, blocking out the feeling of stepping on arrays of tacks, pointy ends up.

“Lannie?”

“Huh?” Lannie said and then stumbled. As she tried to catch herself, pain shot through her feet and she couldn’t suppress a moan. The pain roared up her legs and she let go of Coppertail’s saddle-blanket and fell.

“Lannie?” Fen said in alarm. He pulled Coppertail to a halt, ran around the gelding and saw Lannie on the ground, gasping and clutching at her big, heavy clumping boots.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling besides her.

“Oh Gods,” Lannie said through clenched teeth. “My feet.”

“Can you walk? Did you sprain something?”

“My feet.” Lannie began scrabbling madly at the laces of her boots, afraid of what she’d find and afraid to leave the boots on another second. There had to be stinging ants inside her boots from the way her feet felt, although the ants were concentrating their efforts on her soles and toes.

She wrenched off one boot, unwinding to Fen’s shock what had once been a white silk stocking stuffed inside and wrapped around her foot. It stank and it was stained with sweat and blood. Her other foot, still inside the heavy, clumping boot, wouldn’t be any better.

Fen realized how he was swearing when Lannie cringed away from him in open terror. He knew instantly what was wrong, and incompetent fool that he was, he should have foreseen exactly what ailed her. Lannie kept proving she didn’t know the first thing about surviving on the steppes and he hadn’t been teaching her properly.

“You never took off your boots?” He had to force himself not to shout at her or at his own fool self.

“No,” she shook her head, tears leaking out of her eyes. “It hurts.”

Fen cast a quick glance over the waterskins slung on Coppertail. He still had plenty and he’d need every drop. How lucky they were the Martian government supplied handy waystations with fresh water at regular intervals for morons like him. He also needed a basin and clean cloth, neither of which he had.

“Lannie. I’m not mad,” Fen said. He was furious, but not at her. She didn’t know any better. He could hear Dawud, Kavan, Pello, and Helion’s voices rising in an angry chorus of recriminations, backed by every Hand in HighTower, both the living and the dead.

“Don’t leave me,” Lannie whispered.

“I would never do that. Stay right here. I got to hobble Coppertail, then carry you to that rock outcropping where we spent the night. Then I’m gonna come back with Coppertail, hobble him again, and take care of your feet.”

“My other boot.”

“You’re gonna have to wear it a few more minutes. I’ll get it off as soon as I can. Do not stand up and do not scratch!”

“Okay,” Lannie whispered. Her freed foot was chafed raw and blistered. When she unwound her silk stocking, the cloth ripped open some of the blisters. Yet that foot, freed from the boot, felt instantly better in the cool morning breeze. Her other foot burned still more; a maddening itch made worse because now she knew what was hiding underneath the leather. She wanted to claw every one of her itchy toes, her soles, her insteps, her ankles. She forced her hands to her sides and wiggled her free toes in the clean, cool, fresh air while she panted in agony.

After hobbling Coppertail, Fen scooped her up and carried her back to the rock outcropping. He’d been careful to kill the fire dead, and now he needed it again. Damnation. He settled Lannie and ran back to Coppertail, who was looking distinctly annoyed at his incompetence.

It was his imagination. The gelding didn’t care. He got to graze again in peace.

Back at the rock outcropping, Fen saw to his immense relief that Lannie was stretching and wiggling her bare toes. That foot still worked. As he had asked, she’d left the other boot on, despite how uncomfortable it had to be.

He knelt, unlaced her left boot, stripped it off, and unwound the other reeking silk stocking. Her left foot wasn’t as bad as her right, but it too was chafed raw and blistered. He’d wondered since he met her how big her feet were. She was an average-sized girl yet her boots were big, clomping workman’s boots. Those boots weren’t hers, anymore than the oversized coverall was. Those damned DelFino ristos kept her naked and she’d escaped in the only clothes available.

“Oh, oh, oh, that’s so much better,” Lannie gasped when he’d completely unveiled her left foot. “They were burning.” She was afraid to look at her ravaged feet and afraid not to know what she faced.

“Lannie. I’m not mad. But I need you to tell me. How long have your feet been hurting?”

“Since I, I…” She had to think of what to say that wouldn’t reveal who she was or that she was carrying the Pearls of Orlov, stuffed into the coverall pockets. “Since I ran away in Barsoom. But we rode and they didn’t hurt. Then we started walking all day. These were the only clothes and shoes I could find, so I wore them.”

“Gleesh! They left you naked?”

“No, not exactly, but I had to get away. I’m sorry. I don’t want to put those boots back on.”

“You are not going to, Lannie. You can’t. Walking for days in boots that don’t fit kill your feet and your legs. You aren’t going to walk for at least a week while your feet heal and then we have to get you proper fitting boots.” He thanked all his ancestors she had been riding Coppertail the first two days of their escape from Barsoom. Ill-fitting boots didn’t matter as much if the wearer wasn’t walking in them. His haste in fleeing Barsoom might have saved her feet.

“But, but I have to. You said Coppertail can’t carry us both.”

“He’s not gonna, Lannie. He’s gonna carry you and I’ll walk.” Fen stared at her abused feet. Her toenails looked intact. “I’m gonna have to wash your feet clean. It will hurt, but I have to.”

“I don’t think it can hurt more than this,” Lannie moaned. The freedom of being out of the boots was wearing off and the itch increasing.

“It will. Let your feet alone, while I get the fire going again. Warm up the water a bit so I can wash them more thoroughly.” He looked around, stopping at Coppertail’s saddlebags. Lannie was keeping her feet raised so she didn’t touch the ground and she needed to keep her feet clean and dry. His best shirt was clean, made of fine soft wool, and Lannie needed it more than he did. The fire first, because it would take longer.

Lannie stared at him, crouched over the ring of stones he’d swiftly reassembled into the campfire and fiddling with a heap of dried grass. She cringed again, thinking of all the obscene things the sot had said when he’d dressed her in the Pearls of Orlov. He had, she had forced herself to forget because it had been so disgustingly weird and creepy, included her feet in his list.

“Um, do you have to?”

Fen stared back at her frightened face. Astonishingly and despite his shaking hands, he’d managed to light the fire the second try and was now rummaging through one of Coppertail’s saddlebags. “Yes. I’m afraid you’ll get sepsis. Blood poisoning.”

Lannie paled. “From a blister?”

“From dozens of blisters and chafing and rawness. You got to take off your boots every single night and change your socks each time and keep your feet dry. You didn’t do any of that, did you.” Because, more fool he, he hadn’t bothered to check.

“No,” Lannie whispered, ashamed again at how woefully unprepared she was to face life. Ulla would have known. She caught herself. No one had ever told her so how could she have known?

He had to ask her. He couldn’t do it himself and panic Lannie still more if she was that afraid to have him touch her.

“Set your feet on my shirt.” He spread it out at her feet; a soft, creamy-white, lavishly embroidered wool shirt. Then he picked it back up again and ripped the sleeves off before laying the body of his shirt on the ground at her feet.

“That will keep them clean. You got to roll up your pantlegs, as far as they’ll go. I need to examine your legs.” He caught her horrified expression and added “so I can see if you’ve got streaks where your blood vessels are. I’ll have to check every morning and night. If you don’t got them now, you’ll probably be okay, yeah?”

“And if I do?” Lannie asked hesitantly. He was so serious. He was also openly frightened in a way she had not seen before.

“We’ll have to get back to the road quick and find a doctor right away.” And she would probably still die. People died regularly from blood poisoning on the steppes if the body couldn’t fight it off on its own. He couldn’t tell her that. Damn, damn, damn. He’d seen how she’d stumbled in those big, clumping heavy boots and never once understood that they didn’t fit and she didn’t know any better, but he did and if she died, it was his fault.

* * *

“A few more days to Telduv,” Iolanthe chirped. “Will there be anything interesting to see along the way? I’ve never been this far from the equator or anywhere, really.”

Charlton had gotten sullen again, pacing nervously up and down the tiny compartment when he wasn’t shadow-boxing in the corridor and annoying the other passengers. He kept staring out the window at the 10° latitude corridor road on the other side of the railbed as if he could see his sister in the crowds heading west towards the Pole-to-Pole Corridor. They had changed trains at Hylind and were heading east and if Lannie were heading north to Ranaglia on foot or in a carriage, she’d be nowhere near them.

He knew it. She knew he knew, but pointing it out would only encourage Charlton to go back into the corridor and stare out the window on the rightward side, into the foot traffic heading east towards Telduv. Even if Lannie was walking home, she couldn’t possibly have gotten this far on foot.

“There’s nothing especially dramatic,” he replied. “The steppes, mainly. We traveled this route when we left home. Those Olde Earthe engineers must have blasted the terrain flat when they laid out this section of the tracks. Or maybe it was always rolling hills.”

She patted the seat next to her. “Tell me about Telduv. Is it very large? Have you been there before?”

“Not often, other than when passing through on my way to Barsoom. It’s the closest free-city to my estates. You can’t get further from Barsoom than my lands and still remain in DelFino. It’s over a day’s journey by wagon and carriage from Telduv to home. We’re really isolated.”

“It sounds like it.” Iolanthe pictured the immense map of DelFino that she had seen in the daimyo’s study in Barsoom. DelFino had to be twice the size of Orlov and Orlov was huge. “Why was your portion settled when DelFino has so many choices?”

“Good land and plenty of available water. My forefathers wanted to colonize the sections of DelFino closest to the free-cities, rail-lines, and government corridors to control squatters. Most of DelFino’s interiors are still wild. We need more population and coin to found new villages and build roads.”

“That sounds like Orlov. Do you have jungles? We do. With tigers and giant snakes.”

Charlton turned away from the window; his attention finally caught. “Giant snakes? Really? Why do you have those?”

“I think Madame Orlov wanted a demesne that was more exotic than anyone else,” Iolanthe said dryly. “It’s not like an ecosystem _has_ to have snakes several meters long who can swallow an entire sheep whole. There are other predator choices, but that’s what she wanted.”

Charlton snorted. “She liked having all her relatives close by, including the ones with scales?”

“I see Dimitri told you about her,” Iolanthe said with a giggle. “Generations later, we still have to live with what she wrought. And tigers, of course.”

“Wolves not good enough?”

“We have them too.”

“Gleesh. What do your peasants do?”

“Watch carefully when they go into the fields so they don’t get eaten by a tiger or a pack of wolves.”

“What about the snakes?”

“They stay in the jungles where they belong.”

Charlton laughed. “Maybe when this is all over, we can introduce my dad to your giant snakes. I don’t see why a snake that can swallow an entire sheep, fleece and all, would turn up its nose at a wanna-be actor.”

“That reminds me. Just before we left, Dimitri told me your father is staying with the sot indefinitely. He’ll be the one who interacts with the private investigators.”

“If who they hire is any good, they’ll read a newspaper and figure out pretty quick that they’re being lied to. I can’t believe some private investigator would believe anything Dimitri or my dad tell him about why they’re looking for Lannie.”

“No doubt, but will they care?” Iolanthe asked. “I would assume as professionals their main concern is being paid.”

“Like whores,” Charlton said.

He slumped back, staring at the ceiling. “What am I going to tell my mother? She adores my dad and I always thought he cared about her even if he didn’t care about anything else. It was one of the few things he did well. And all the time, he was lying. To her and to us and I guess Mistress Vaughn too.”

Iolanthe wrapped her arms around him. “We’ll think of something on the train. We have time. Will we spend much time in Telduv?”

“One night. We’ll arrive too late to start the trek home. Zachery’s secretary made us reservations at the hotel on DelFino’s tab so I won’t have to pay. He arranged for transportation, too, which we’ll need.”

Another reminder of how badly we need coin and I have no dowry, Iolanthe thought. Damn Nelly for stealing what little I had and damn the sot too. With the Pearls gone, Orlov will be bankrupt in short order so papa will be hard-pressed even to ship me my clothes.

“I’ll have to tell mama about Lannie. If dad trying to murder her doesn’t break her heart, knowing that Lannie is dead somewhere because I screwed up will,” Charlton said. His eyes were closed in anguish.

“We don’t know for sure,” Iolanthe said reassuringly.

Charlton forced himself upright. “I can hope. I wish I could say that I would know, like telepathy or something between me and Lannie, but I don’t.”

“Ulla will find her and if she doesn’t, Dimitri’s private investigator will.”

Charlton gave her a sideways glance. “Dimitri is my best friend so he wouldn’t admit this to me. I don’t know if he would tell you. If rescuing the Pearls means sacrificing my sister, which will he choose?”

Iolanthe turned away to stare out the window at the road of foot traffic, all heading towards Barsoom. “The Pearls. His duty to the demesne requires he make that choice.”

“Like I had to sacrifice my sister to save my estates.” Charlton moaned, his anguish plain. “A few more days and we’ll find out the damage from Mistress Vaughn’s fires. Maybe she’ll still be alive and I can find out why she helped my dad and then burned down the only home she’s ever had.”

Iolanthe took his hands in hers. “We’ll do it together.”

He smiled wearily at her. “The only good thing to come out of this mess is you.” He leaned over to kiss her and she fell into his arms. The world with its trauma and demands would go away for a while.

* * *

“We’ll start posting pictures right away of the maid, Nelly,” John RedHawk said to Rastislav and Dimitri. Like Mr. Parminder, he was polite to Albion, but otherwise dismissed him as unimportant.

“But what about my little girl?” Albion pleaded. He clutched his chest theatrically and gave serious thought to falling to his knees.

“If you had been able to give a better description of your daughter to our artist, we would have done her first,” RedHawk replied. “We have to wait on my appointment with her cousin, Ulla DelFino, to produce posters of Miss Yilanda.”

“Ulla will be accurate and very detailed. You can be sure of that,” Dimitri said.

“My nephew is correct,” Rastislav said. He was shaking, ill, and eyeing the tantalus brimming with red wine and wondering how Madame Orlov would punish him if he gave into temptation. He also suppressed the desire to describe Ulla as a screeching harpy. Let the private investigator find out for himself. RedHawk acted respectful and deferential yet there was this slight air about him that said he didn’t mean it, any more than that fraud, Albion, actually cared about finding Yilanda.

“Of course, my lord daimyo. I will return with the finished portrait so you, lord Dimitri, and Mr. DelFino can confirm Miss Yilanda’s likeness,” RedHawk said. “Releasing a poor description would hamper the investigation.”

He waited a beat, watching the three ristos closely. “Are you sure you have told me everything?”

“Certainly,” Dimitri said promptly.

“Every detail,” Albion added with great sincerity and earnestness.

“We would never lie in such important circumstances,” Rastislav finished up pompously. “It is vital to all of us to rescue Miss Yilanda. It does not matter if she still refuses to wed me, as long as she is found safe.”

“Of course, my lord daimyo,” RedHawk said blandly.

They were lying. His boss, Mr. Parminder, had told him they would and he’d been correct as always. The Orlov servants from the butler, Matsuda, on down to the scullery maids, knew what had actually transpired but then servants always did. They would lie too, rather than risk what Orlov would do to them or to their families back at the demesne. The mice inside the walls knew what was going on as did the horses in the stable, but they wouldn’t talk. The question was why everyone was lying and how much would it affect the investigation. The lies might be harmless if embarrassing, but John RedHawk had learned long ago that what people didn’t reveal was sometimes critical to a successful investigation. In this particular case, every instinct screamed that what the daimyo of Orlov, Dimitri, and Albion DelFino were omitting mattered more than anything on Mars; much more, in fact, than Yilanda DelFino’s life did.

Would her cousin, Ulla DelFino, lie?

* * *

Yes, Ulla DelFino would lie. But it was readily apparent how conflicted she was over having to lie. She wanted desperately for her cousin, Yilanda, to be found. She was an overflowing fountain of detailed information about Yilanda’s appearance, ways of thinking, friends and preferred relatives, her own searches both with and without Dimitri Orlov, her low opinion of everyone in the Orlov family, meeting the police and filing a missing person’s report which no one else had bothered to do, and what Albion had done to his wife and daughter, causing his daughter to flee. She even discussed her traumatic visit to the Great Hospital’s morgue which RedHawk found astonishing since he wouldn’t have believed any young lady of the Four Hundred knew a facility of that nature existed, let alone tour it and demand to see the bodies to ensure her cousin wasn’t lying on an ice-water drenched marble slab.

Yet Ulla DelFino still lied, in what she carefully omitted. And on more than one subject, too. Interesting.

Even more interesting was having the daimyo of DelFino lie to his face, although he was a noticeably more skilled liar than anyone else John had met since being assigned to the case. It was almost as though he remained unaffected by what the daimyo of Orlov feared so badly. He was lying as a matter of courtesy and solidarity with another daimyo of the Four Hundred. The daimyo of DelFino did not care; either about Yilanda DelFino’s fate or whatever it was the Orlov family was hiding.

* * *

Lannie reluctantly rolled up the legs of her coverall, afraid of what she would find and more afraid not to. Fen was shaking with anxiety, spurring her on to move faster despite her own shaking hands. It was hard to believe someone so capable could be afraid of anything and yet he was. When he saw her legs remained unmarred by dark streaks marking her blood vessels, he sagged with open relief onto the ground, mumbling prayers of thanks. So, she thought with her own relief, he wasn’t lying to see her bare legs. This was really important or he wouldn’t be prostrate.

Fen got back up on his knees and said, glad his voice wasn’t trembling and his hands were steadying, “I’m gonna wash your feet clean. Soon as I’m done, I’ll put you on Coppertail and we’re gone.” He glanced around. No one had come out yet to work in the fields, giving them privacy and freedom from harassment. Even so, the sun was rearing up over the horizon so he couldn’t dawdle. The field-hands would be out and about very soon.

“Okay,” Lannie said and steeled herself for the embarrassment of a stranger washing her filthy, sore, hurting, reeking feet. Fen was right again. It _hurt_ ; the water stung every chafed patch of skin. It was worse where the blisters had torn open, making the pain blaze up. Otherwise, the lukewarm water soothed her skin, until he began to carefully dry off her feet with the sleeves of his beautiful wool shirt and then they hurt more than ever. It also hurt to see her blood, fluid from blisters, and sticky pus staining his shirt. The embroidery was almost as skillful and detailed as the flower portraits mama painted with thread. Some woman had put hours and hours of her life into Fen’s shirt and he sacrificed it for her safety.

That, even more than his own open fear, convinced Lannie that she had been in danger. And he had cared enough to rescue her, a stranger, and not abandon her because she was too much trouble.

Maybe she could trust him. Not about everything. But enough to get her to Northernmost. She’d rehearse what she wanted to say during the day’s journey and then, when they made camp, if he still seemed amiable, she’d perform. She would make daddy proud of her, the lying, poisoning, cheating, rotted ham.

The thought suddenly struck her. How did Fen, a savage from the frozen provinces of the north and probably barely able to recognize the letters of his own name, know the word ‘sepsis’?

* * *

Nelly stared at the poster tacked on the public message board in horror. She had been cursing her luck in missing the trolley by minutes — she had run for the stop only to watch the trolley roar off as she approached — and having to wait for the next one. Her luck was still holding; if she’d made the trolley, she wouldn’t have seen the wanted poster. It offered a small reward for information about a runaway, thieving housemaid from Orlov. The portrait of her wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough that someone might recognize her. Worse, the detailed description of her birthmarks in intimate areas meant the sot, damn his eyes, was behind the search. No one else in Barsoom knew she had that scattering of yellows on the insides of her thighs and up her tummy. Other than those gentlemen she’d been intimate with since her arrival. They’d recognize the description at once and the reward might encourage them to turn her in, especially if the poster made them think twice about coin mysteriously vanished from wallets. She wanted to vomit on the bench. The message was clear. If she wanted to escape Orlov, she had to flee Barsoom at once and take the next train to Westernmost.

She took a quick look around. No one was paying attention. Nelly quickly tore down the poster and stuffed it into her bag. It was fuller and heavier now than when she’d escaped the Orlov townhouse. She had more coin, another dress, her maid’s uniform to sell when it was safe, a coverall she could change into, small gifts from generous gentlemen, and the fake pearls she’d stolen from that soppy Miss Iolanthe.

She looked down at herself. She was wearing the most beautiful dress. She had been so proud of buying it. It was the prettiest dress she’d ever owned, enhancing every one of her charms. It was eye-catching, in vivid pink and yellow stripes with a scooped neckline and real lace edging. She’d wanted to catch the eye of generous-hearted, accommodating gentlemen and this dress delivered them. Unfortunately, she needed safe anonymity more. That damned sot. And that damned Miss Iolanthe. It was their fault. Especially that soppy, lazy Miss Iolanthe. She had probably gotten around to complaining to the sot who otherwise wouldn’t have cared. Or she complained to that officious toad of a butler, Matsuda.

She would have to change into the boring, drab coverall, buttoned up to the neck. No one noticed a woman in a coverall. It said low-caste worker. It said ignore me.

Nelly looked around her wildly. She had to change clothes before she ran to the train station, in case anyone saw a poster and recognized her on the street. Her luck was still in. A café. She’d change in the lady’s room stall, pin up her hair into a worker’s plaits, wash off her makeup, and vanish into the crowd.

Twenty minutes later, Nelly reappeared on the street in her drab coverall. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to her at the café, being busy with the crowd of shift-change workers who had poured in. Even better, the trolley was heading to the trolley stop.

She’d make this trolley and then it was off to the train station in Barsoom and a ticket to the freedom of Westernmost.

Nelly felt a surge of triumph as she boarded the trolley in her undistinguished coverall. Neither the driver nor the conductor was familiar. She’d escaped successfully. No one would notice her if she didn’t want to be noticed. She’d never return to Orlov and no one there would ever know where she had gone.

She’d be just like Mrs. Pondicherry. Free as a bird, free to live as she chose, free to take what she wanted.

* * *

“You got to keep your feet in the stirrups, even though the metal will irritate them,” Fen said worriedly. He realized, studying her feet and trying to think of how to prevent exacerbating her blisters and chafing, that Lannie routinely went barefoot. The calluses had toughened up her feet and probably were what saved her from blood poisoning. Even so, he would have to check her legs for streaks every morning and night for a few days, along with washing her feet so they stayed clean.

It wouldn’t be a hardship to examine Lannie’s bare legs twice a day. He pushed the thought aside, wondering what the hellation was wrong with him when he needed to focus on more important matters, such as getting the hellation out of the fields and back onto the Pole-to-Pole road and heading north. Field-hands would be showing up soon and could cause them trouble.

Lannie looked down at the grubby stirrups and her clean bare feet, certain that there was a solution. Ulla would find one, since this problem involved cleanliness. Aha!

“I know my stockings are filthy but couldn’t you wrap them around the metal? It would be padding. We can wash them when we get to the waystation.”

Fen beamed up at her. “Great idea, Lannie. I got some water left to rinse them first so they won’t be so dirty.”

He moved swiftly as always, and they were on their way a few minutes later. It was interesting, Lannie thought, to ride Coppertail by herself while Fen walked alongside, leading the gelding by the reins. The horse responded much better to Fen than he did to her, so she was fine with Fen taking the lead. It was like having a groom when she’d learned the rudiments of riding when she was little. All she had to do was stay put. Being high up on Coppertail (he had the smoothest walk) gave her a chance, for the first time, to really look around.

Uh-oh. “There’s peasants coming over the horizon. They see us.”

Fen twisted, took a quick look, and said, “we got to move.” He started running, Coppertail easily keeping pace, and within a few more minutes they reached the trampled grass medians of the Pole-to-Pole road. Fen slowed down once they hit the road and they blended into the traffic unnoticed.

“Do you think they’ll follow us?” Lannie asked, leaning down.

“I doubt it. We didn’t leave a mess and they’d have to stop working which their overseer won’t allow. He can’t leave to follow us either, cause those peasants would stop working the minute he turns his back,” Fen replied with more than a little contempt in his voice.

Lannie thought of the peasants in the village at home. It used to be her home, her corner of DelFino. She’d never be able to return and she forced back tears thinking of mama. Even if mama was still alive, she was gone forever.

“I’m sure you’re right.”

* * *

Fen was pleased to see that even though they didn’t move nearly as quickly as they would have riding pillion on Coppertail, their progress was much faster than the day before. He hadn’t understood how slow Lannie had walked. He’d thought it was fatigue. It was pain, yet she had never complained. She must have been desperate to escape. He considered again what those damned DelFino and Orlov ristos had done to her and swallowed rage.

The other thing he noticed was that Lannie hadn’t had any trouble keeping her seat on Coppertail when he ran them to the road. She knew the rudiments of riding but when he thought about it, housemaids and street girls in cities didn’t learn how to ride.

Then how did Lannie know?


	34. its a hard knock life (for a thief)

Fen kept up a brisk pace leading Coppertail; hour after hour after hour. Lannie was impressed all over again at how tough, capable and competent he was. Daddy would, for all his sparkling conversation and dinner party guest skills, have never been able to manage even a single task that Fen just did without thinking twice. Or complaining. Or overdramatizing his efforts. Or expecting a parade as a reward. She considered her various relatives, her friends, and their brothers and cousins. None of them were as capable as this scruffy stablehand was.

That led to thoughts of her brother. Charlton didn’t whine; she had to give him that. What was he doing now? Did he have any idea what daddy had done to mama? Lannie was sure Charlton cared deeply about mama, but he wasn’t very bright. Would he ever work out what daddy had done with Mistress Vaughn? Assuming she was correct about daddy and Mistress Vaughn. She would have to inform Charlton. Somehow. She winced. She was acting again as though what daddy said about her brother was true.

Did he care about her was a bigger question. Did any of her relatives? Mama would care, but the poisoned tisanes had made her not just dreamy and detached but incoherent. Lannie thought of her last glimpse of mama; was it really two weeks?

Yes, she counted it out on her fingers. The endless journey from the slowly decaying manor house to Telduv followed by endless days west and then south on the train until they reached Barsoom. That day, her eighteenth birthday, had not been endless. It raced by far too fast, sweeping her along like a leaf in the whirlwind until she ran away and met Fen at the livery stable. Once she ran off with Fen, time slowed down again, clinging to him as they rode Coppertail out of Barsoom and then even more endless, wearying days trudging along the Pole-to-Pole road. She had been so overwhelmed she hadn’t been able to do more than survive.

Until today. While Fen still trudged along on foot, she rode high on Coppertail. She could finally think without panicking, without fear, without exhaustion, without too much pain, and without having her mind run around in useless circles.

Fen would keep her safe. That was a huge relief. If he’d been going to discard her like so much bothersome rubbish, he would have done so the minute he saw her damaged feet. He’d been a considerate gentleman, too, unlike some supposed gentlemen she could name. She didn’t know why, yet, Fen was being so considerate, but he was and it was good enough for now. She could use his consideration as she worked out how to get him to take her to Northernmost and not just to Darnay. He might not even run mad and murder her over the Pearls of Orlov. She didn’t have to admit how many she had. Even a bracelet was priceless and would get her to Northernmost. Or those dreadful pearl cluster earrings. Rastislav had slid their ear-wires through the holes in her lobes after he’d taken mama’s opals. Recalling what he had said to her when he inserted them made her gag again. It would be very easy to discard the earrings, unlike the rest of those beautiful, lustrous Pearls.

If she told Fen she’d stolen the earrings, he’d believe her because how else would anyone get earrings like them? She could offer him one of the earrings in exchange for him getting her to Northernmost. Or at least up to Darnay and a train ticket to Northernmost. Someone as resourceful as Fen would know how to sell pearl earrings. He was a stablehand. Stablehands patronized pawnshops. Or fences. Or illicit, back-alley jewelers. Didn’t they? She only knew about those options from novels, the novels that Ulla had disapproved of her reading. Too bad those novels didn’t say anything useful about how you actually located a back-alley jeweler or a pawnshop and then negotiated with the owner without ending up murdered. She didn’t have any idea of how to proceed but Fen would.

The road was crowded with all kinds of people trudging north. A family in a wagon keeping pace with them caught her eye. The older, dark-haired boy reminded her of Charlton and sure enough, he was teasing his little sister. He was playing with a ball tied to a piece of yarn, tossing it to his sister and yanking it back. Then, suddenly, she caught the ball, making her brother complain loudly before accepting and tossing the ball again, keeping it away from his sister. Until she caught it again and loudly crowed her triumph.

Lannie watched sourly and suddenly caught a flash of triumph on the boy’s face; triumph when his sister successfully caught the ball. She watched more carefully. The ball was trapped inside a net of yarn so it couldn’t get lost over the side of the wagon and the boy could retrieve it easily. He was tossing it so the little girl could catch it but she always missed and each time she did, he jerked the yarn, bringing the ball back to himself. Until his sister caught the ball, clutching it tightly while he pretended to scowl and yanked at it, making her even more pleased with herself. Then she clumsily tossed it back, he threw it again and the game started over.

Memories cascaded over her, drowning out the sights and noises of the road, the feel of Coppertail ambling along and the maddening itch in her feet, the odors fighting it out for dominance. Arguing over cake and fooling Charlton into taking the smaller slice. Hitting Charlton with snowballs at Ranaglia and he never once scored a hit on her although all their cousins did. Footraces and games and swimming contests that she’d win at last.

Because he let her win just as she was ready to quit. He was trying to teach her, clumsily and badly, to keep trying.

She reviewed memories from a new viewpoint. As she got more skilled, he made her work harder for her wins and she never once realized his purpose. The knowledge was shaming. Ulla was right. She didn’t think. She didn’t see what was in front of her.

Charlton wanted her to succeed. Daddy never did.

Because Charlton repeatedly let her win the bigger slice of cake after a noisy argument, stumbled in a footrace near the finish line, or got distracted in a game, then there might be a reason why he kept saying, over and over, not to worry about marrying the daimyo of Orlov. He must have had some larger plan in place. A bad plan, to be sure. Lannie shook her head angrily. She was still acting as though daddy was right about Charlton’s lack of brains. Yes, he flunked out of every school he’d ever attended and every tutor he’d ever had said he could barely read, but he didn’t quit and he didn’t whine. He had been smart enough to fool her, while she had crowed at every opportunity about how much smarter she was.

She reviewed how hard he had worked with Walter, who openly disliked him. Walter was rude to Charlton in a way that Ulla never had been to her. Yet Charlton swallowed Walter’s petty nastiness to save their estates.

What had his larger plan been? And why hadn’t he said anything to her? Humiliation rose up, filling her mouth with bile. She knew the answer. It was because she couldn’t keep a secret (even one as important as Shondra’s), couldn’t lie worth a damn, and he had important reasons not to tell her. Charlton wanted to save mama and he had to have Rastislav’s bride price to do it. Charlton didn’t know that daddy was poisoning mama, but he didn’t trust daddy about much of anything, and he knew that daddy needed money desperately. Not for anything useful though, like repairing the manor house roof or paying off debts or helping the peasants in the village. Not daddy.

Charlton couldn’t trust her not to blurt out his plan to mama, the servants, friends and relatives, and most of all to daddy and he would have been right. She hadn’t trusted her brother. She’d listened to what daddy said, what Walter said, what grandfather said when he wasn’t too drunk to talk, even to what mama said. But not Ulla. Ulla never disparaged her brother.

All of them said not to worry. Charlton, Ulla, Walter, even Dimitri Orlov and how did Charlton know him anyway? Did they each have a plan to save her from the daimyo of Orlov? Separate plans or were they working together? It no longer mattered, because she’d run away on her own, stealing the Pearls of Orlov.

Ulla, darn her, kept being proved right. She didn’t think and she ignored what was dancing in front of her. But she was thinking now. How well did Charlton know Dimitri Orlov? If he knew Dimitri well, then Charlton already knew what a horrible, lewd geezer the daimyo of Orlov was. Boys gossiped just like girls, even if they didn’t admit it. And, if Charlton knew Dimitri Orlov, then he might already know plenty about the unlucky Orlov girl he was supposed to marry.

On the train, Charlton had described the Orlov harpy — what was her name again? — Iolanthe! He’d described her as ugly, stupid, crippled and penniless. No, he said he was repeating what _daddy_ said. Daddy, who you never quite knew when he was acting a role or being real. Her brother had not said one word about what he thought Iolanthe Orlov was truly like. Why wouldn’t he? It didn’t make any sense.

It ate at her. She could understand why Charlton wouldn’t tell her why she shouldn’t worry about marrying Rastislav Orlov, since he knew she couldn’t lie well enough to keep a secret. But she couldn’t understand why Charlton would lie about Iolanthe Orlov. Daddy claimed Iolanthe was ugly, poor, crippled, and stupid but daddy lied. None of those things might be true.

Lannie carefully reviewed what she knew of her brother, struggling to analyze his behavior over the years without the pall of her own dislike and daddy’s lies coloring what she remembered. It was harder than she would have believed but the conclusion finally arrived. Charlton lied only when he was forced to, serving some larger purpose. He wasn’t a casual liar; instead he shut up rather than lie. He had a reason for quoting daddy about Iolanthe Orlov: he needed to distract attention away from his own opinion.

Why would he do that? The memory finally arrived, dredged up from Shondra’s last letter, the one where she said she’d moved again. Shondra had casually mentioned that Iolanthe might be Dimitri’s sister and with the avalanche of fear and terror overwhelming her, Lannie hadn’t asked her brother. _Charlton_ never said one word about any connections he had to Orlov. _Charlton_ knew Dimitri, but he never admitted how well. But she, Lannie, could state that they knew each other well enough to meet in Barsoom on her wedding day and get into a fistfight rescuing Walter from Fen. She still didn’t know why Fen was fighting with Walter, but there had to be a reason. She pushed that concern aside as unimportant. What was important was the conclusion that _Charlton_ had a larger purpose in mind _and_ that he knew what he was getting with Iolanthe Orlov.

Could he be that intelligent? Ulla implied he was and Ulla never praised anyone without a good reason. Ulla had said she could make Charlton into a daimyo even if she suffered severe brain damage. Ulla had the least imagination of anyone Lannie knew. She was not prone to flights of fancy. She was blunt, she was straightforward, she was practical, she was accurate. She was incapable of making something up, so therefore, she was telling the truth about Charlton’s abilities.

What could Charlton’s larger purpose be, the purpose behind the purpose of Lannie’s bride price paying for mama’s medical care? It wouldn’t be paying off daddy’s gambling debts. It wouldn’t be to run away from the estates. He’d worked too hard with Walter to save them. If she remembered correctly, Charlton had been struggling long before Zachery ever showed up on his inspection tour. She hadn’t been paying attention and she was paying for it now, having to guess the motives of her brother.

But the theory she was slowly working out felt right. Charlton needed coin. Lots and lots of it. Charlton knew Dimitri Orlov much better than he pretended. Because he knew Dimitri, he knew far more than he was admitting about Dimitri’s sister, Iolanthe. If she was Dimitri’s sister and if she wasn’t, she was a close cousin. Charlton kept saying he had over a hundred people depending on him. Who were those hundred people? The peasants on the estates. The same ragged, hungry peasants that daddy disdained, mama ignored, she overlooked and Ulla insisted she was beholden to.

Whatever bride price daddy extracted from the daimyo of Orlov wouldn’t be enough to save mama _and_ rebuild decaying cottages, rethatch them, rebuild the roads, or any of the other projects Charlton had listed when he saw the Pearls of Orlov in the cathedral. Daddy wouldn’t pay for any of those things — maybe not even mama’s medical care — especially not if he and Mistress Vaughn were poisoning mama. Unlike Charlton, he didn’t care about rescuing their estates from ruin.

Charlton did care. But where could great piles of money come from? The answer hit her like a thrown brick. The Pearls of Orlov.

The daimyo of Orlov had brought the Pearls to Barsoom, just as she had asked in her letter, the letter Walter had dictated to her. Was Walter part of Charlton’s plan? If Charlton repaid Walter with some of the Pearls, then yes, he probably was. Walter loved beautiful things and the Pearls of Orlov were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. He said so in front of her, even more overwhelmed and mesmerized than she had been. Dimitri and Iolanthe Orlov must have helped as well, making sure the daimyo of Orlov brought all the Pearls and not just a bracelet or two. Dimitri could be paid in Pearls as could Iolanthe. Money offered freedom. Charlton wouldn’t have to marry Iolanthe and she, lucky girl, wouldn’t have to marry him. Dimitri, too, could do what he wanted.

Charlton kept saying not to worry. Maybe he did plan to save her, somehow, from the daimyo of Orlov. Or maybe he saw a larger purpose. He would sacrifice her, his sister, to save his estates from ruin. He would take the Pearls and she would pay with her life, especially when the daimyo of Orlov realized that her brother stole the Pearls.

It made sense in a horrible way. It fit with what they had been taught from the cradle. The first duty was to the demesne, the land, and the family. Daughters were regularly married off in arrangements that benefited the families, even if not themselves. Charlton would sacrifice her to save his estates just like daddy had been willing to sell her to pay gambling debts. The difference was Charlton would save the estates, whereas daddy would gamble away her bride price and end up deeper in debt than ever.

Dimitri and Iolanthe would have been, Lannie supposed, brought up the same way. To her knowledge, all Four Hundred offspring were. Their first duty, especially for scions like Dimitri or Walter or Charlton, lay with the demesne. How would helping Charlton steal the Pearls help Orlov? Why would Dimitri do such a thing? This was a definite weak point in her theory. Unless….

There it was.

Rastislav had no heir and Orlov practiced primogeniture. Rastislav was widely known to be loathsome. If he was also a terrible, incompetent daimyo, which seemed very likely, then this might be part of the plan. It would allow the Orlov family to get rid of Rastislav (without resorting to murder) before he managed to get a son on some unlucky wife. If Charlton and Dimitri divided the Pearls up, most of them going back to Orlov, everyone would benefit.

Except Rastislav but who cared about him?

And her. She wouldn’t benefit. She would still end up dead at the hands of that awful, lecherous geezer daimyo.

Lannie stared at Coppertail’s ears flicking away flies and road dust. She could trust Charlton to do what was right by his estates. It was his duty, his responsibility, his honor, and it fit with his observed behavior. She couldn’t trust her brother to do what was right by her, not when his estates were at risk. He had to do what was best for the maximum number of people and, well, sacrifices had to be made. Maybe he planned to somehow save her from Rastislav. After he seized the Pearls and after that horrible, terrible man raped her and beat her. And if she lived.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Fen asked.

Startled, Lannie twisted to watch him, watching her. He smiled up at her. “You’ve been concentrating on something.”

“Um, yes, I have,” Lannie admitted. She couldn’t talk about what Charlton had done to her, because that would mean admitting who she was, but there was something else and it would give her time to work out what to do about mama and Charlton and the peasants on his estate. Not her estate, not any longer.

“You said you could get me as far as Darnay? And maybe Northernmost afterwards? Do you still mean it? I mean, since I got my feet all torn up.” Lannie smiled tentatively at Fen. He was getting easier and easier to smile at.

His face lit up. “I do mean it, Lannie. Darnay for sure. We’ll talk about Northernmost on the way.”

“I’d like that,” Lannie said. Tonight, when they made camp, she would offer him the pearl earring in exchange for getting her to Northernmost.

* * *

“A waystation,” Fen said and pointed to the building looming ahead of them in the afternoon sun with some relief, hours later. “We need to refill the waterskins and I’ve got to mail a postcard.”

He hadn’t written in days, not since the fight with those damn ristos and then rescuing Lannie. Should he say something about her coming with him to HighTower? No, he decided. He might not be able to persuade her and it was better to not get anyone’s hopes up.

“You can read and write?” Lannie asked and wanted to bite her tongue off.

“Well sure,” Fen said. Those damn DelFino ristos. They must not allow their peasants to read and write, or Lannie wouldn’t have been so surprised. “Can’t you?”

“Yes, I can,” Lannie snapped and wanted to bite her tongue off again. Fen didn’t know who she was. He thought she was some low-caste runaway. “I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

Fen snorted. “I met plenty of people in Barsoom who couldn’t. Up in HighTower, everyone can read and write.”

She had to distract him, so he wouldn’t be angry at her. “Can you tell me about HighTower? I’ve never heard of it before I met you.” Lannie smiled placatingly down at Fen, hoping to make up for her rudeness.

His heart leaped at her smile. “I’d love to. It’s the most beautiful place on Mars when the sun comes up and lights up the steppes in spring, just like waves of golden green water. We have these little flowers in the spring, like tiny yellow stars. The sky is bigger there than anywhere else.”

This time, Lannie was able to smile for real. “That sounds beautiful.”

“It is,” Fen said and as they neared the waystation, he plunged into where HighTower was, the animals, the free-city, the villages; rambling from topic to topic all while thinking, Lannie’ll come to HighTower with me. And she’ll meet someone else. Should he tell her he was part of the ruling family? No, she wouldn’t believe him. Better to stick with the truth she would believe.

Lannie listened with what looked like her full attention, blessing all the time she’d spent having to listen to daddy, mama, Charlton, Ulla, and various instructors on a host of subjects. She let a portion of her mind drift, thinking over how she would coax Fen into accepting the pearl earring without killing her for both of them. Like every other place she’d ever heard off, it sounded like HighTower could use the money from selling pearls.

* * *

The sun sank slowly to the horizon. Fen glanced over at how the rays illuminated the road and the steppes to the east of them. The waystation stop had taken longer than he’d estimated because of Lannie’s feet. She had stumbled around, taking care of her body’s needs, with the legs of her baggy, too-big coverall pulled down to protect her feet. It would be days before she could walk comfortably and safely, while they waited for her feet to heal. She never once complained. He knew she was exhausted and scared, but he was impressed again with how brave and tough she was proving to be. And she was interested in HighTower. Tonight, when they made camp, he’d tell her more about life there.

He had to make camp quickly. It would be dark soon and he had to find a safe spot, well away from the road; far enough away that they could sleep safely without any other travelers around to pester them but not so far he had to make camp again in the dark. Once was enough. He cast a wary eye at the sky. High, thin clouds moving swiftly, yet on the ground, the wind was calmer. He was still working out how weather at the equator differed from weather patterns in HighTower and he could only guess if those clouds meant more rain at dawn.

He also needed light to wash Lannie’s feet and check her legs for streaks. He couldn’t wait until dawn for that task; if she was developing blood poisoning, he had to find a doctor fast. So far, she’d shown no signs but painful experience said that could change quickly. He had been watching for a good turn-off point since they’d left the waystation. Farm fields stretched out to the horizon, separated by narrow lines of steppes (probably used as pasture for farm animals), thick heavy hedges to define property lines, irrigation ditches, and narrow orchards where the lay of the land encouraged trees.

He needed a good enough spot to set up camp, but not the outstanding spot that savvier, possibly more dangerous travelers would choose.

Hellation and damnation, he’d waited too long again, trying to get further away from Barsoom. That strip of steppes leading into the rolling hills already shrouding themselves into darkness would have to do.

“Lannie?”

“Yes?”

“We’ll turn just up ahead to make camp.”

“Okay.” Lannie patted the pocket where she thought the earrings had ended up. Daddy often said it was easier to persuade an audience after a nice dinner and relaxing drinks. So, she would wait until after Fen lit the fire, they gnawed through some dreary mil-rats, drank some tea and then it would be showtime.

“Stop! Thief!” A voice called out, startling both Lannie and Fen.

Oh, no, Lannie thought and clamped her mouth shut so she wouldn’t scream aloud in terror. _It’s not me, it’s not me, it’s not me. Run by, run by, run by. You don’t see me. I’m not here. I didn’t do it_.

A young man raced toward them, legs pumping as he charged north, swerving through the traffic on the road. Fen swung out a leg, tripping the youth to the ground. He punched the young man viciously, keeping him down on the ground, letting go of Coppertail’s reins to do it.

Lannie watched, pale and shaking, one hand to her mouth, the other automatically grabbing Coppertail’s reins. Fen was fast and he hadn’t hesitated and several men came charging up behind them, hot on the thief’s heels.

“That’s him. A pickpocket,” the leader of the small group called, panting and huffing from the race through the interested and increasingly angry crowd. “Thanks for stopping him.”

“No worries,” Fen said easily. “I can’t stand bandits or pickpockets.” He pulled his boot off the youth’s chest, letting him breathe.

The leader of the little group dragged the young man to his feet and boxed his ears.

Lannie’s head rang in sympathy. She held onto Coppertail tightly, afraid to move or say anything that would attract attention.

“This sod get any of your money?” the leader asked Fen. He held out a small bag, heavy with coin. “You reacted so fast, I thought he was robbing you too.”

Fen gave the bag a long look while he quickly patted himself down. “No. He didn’t rob me.” He sighed gustily. “Wish I could say some of that coin was mine, cause I could sure use it, but it’s not.”

The leader smiled. “An honest man. Did you win your fight?”

Fen patted Coppertail’s flank, near Lannie’s thigh. “I believe I did, yeah?”

“Thank you and safe travels to you and your girl.”

Fen grinned. “To you as well.” He smiled up at Lannie; frozen, ashen, silent. “A bit of excitement, there. We’ll turn off the road as soon as people stop noticing us.”

“You don’t like thieves?” Lannie mumbled, needing to say something that wouldn’t sound wrong.

“I _hate_ them,” Fen replied, his expressive face suddenly furious. “Stealing food from other people’s mouths, taking what other people worked hard for. Doesn’t matter if it’s a pickpocket or a pack of bandits. It’s all the same. Thieves should be beaten and if they rob someone again, they should have their hands cut off. Or worse.”

He told her about the bandits who had waylaid the travelers near Krangland, how they had poisoned Krangland’s men, horses, dogs and anyone who would use that well for years to come, and what they had found when they located the bandits’ camp. What they had done to their captive women. It had been a pleasure to see the surviving bandits staked out on the hillside overlooking the corridor road, dying by inches from exposure. Krangland’s daimyo had been so angry over the poisoning of his vassals and his main source of water in the corridor that he gave the surviving bandits water every morning and blankets every night, keeping them alive longer on the hillside with the ants and the flies.

“Oh,” Lannie said and swallowed. Fear washed over her as she considered what Fen would say if she admitted her theft of the Pearls of Orlov. He might despise DelFino and Orlov, but he might also think about the serfs of Orlov and how the loss of the Pearls affected them. She couldn’t bring up the subject tonight. Or anytime soon.

* * *

That thief must have frightened Lannie terribly, Fen thought, as he swiftly made camp in another secluded spot. She hadn’t said a single word afterwards, other than yes, no, and okay in response to his own words.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he said as they settled down, her wrapped in his bedroll and him next to her on the ground.

“Okay,” Lannie said, as rigid with fear as she had been their first night together in that thicket in Barsoom.

But could he? That thief had been the first he’d seen since they’d left Barsoom and Fen had to wonder how many pickpockets and thieves he had missed on the Pole-to-Pole road. Being full of tired and distracted foot traffic, it was surprising that there weren’t thieves. It made him think of slavers again and how Mr. Cardozo at the livery stable, along with all of his crew, told him to watch out for them when he announced he was leaving for home. He hadn’t seen any slavers, but he hadn’t seen that pickpocket on his second day in Barsoom either. Not until it was almost too late.

And then there was Lannie’s feet. She was healing, no streaks on her legs, but she had to have boots that fit. And socks. She had no money at all. He did have his coin, kept back for a hundred uses at HighTower, but Lannie needed boots now if he expected to get her to Darnay. And while he was wishing for things he didn’t have and couldn’t possibly afford, she desperately needed trail gear, changes of clothing, a wide-brimmed hat, foul weather gear, and a saddlehorse with tack of her own. He waited in the velvety darkness, feeling her warmth close to him, waiting for her to drop off into unconsciousness, and when she did, he would get up and take care of that other body need, just as he did every morning and evening while she remained mercifully oblivious to how much he wanted her underneath him, welcoming him into her embrace.

If he persuaded Lannie to come with him to HighTower, one of the unmarried Hands or a vaquero, capable and competent, would have her sweetness and courage. It couldn’t be him. His family wouldn’t accept a penniless street girl no matter how beautiful her brown eyes were. They and all of HighTower needed a dowry and connections and it was his duty as a son to provide them.

* * *

Charlton helped Iolanthe down from the train at the Telduv station. Their luggage was already waiting for them, not a very big pile compared to what Iolanthe normally saw at the Nourz train station when she came and went to the finishing school or to visit the acupuncturist. Most of her clothing was either ruined because of that Nelly or borrowed (perhaps permanently) from the DelFino townhouse closets. Susan, her new maid from the DelFino townhouse, hovered over the luggage. Susan had been working to salvage Iolanthe’s garments for days and some of them, thanks to her skilled hands, were again wearable. Iolanthe spared an angry thought for Nelly, hoping she was struggling wherever she was hiding. Probably not; a sly-boots like that doxy would always land on her feet. Or on her back, until she landed on her feet.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Terrence,” Charlton said distractedly to his valet. He was looking all around them as if he had never seen the Telduv train station before. Iolanthe linked her arm in his, realizing that Charlton was probably scanning the crowd to see if, by some miracle, his sister was there and eager to return home with them.

“Is that Harry?” Terrence asked.

“My lord Charlton,” the servant called as he ran to them in the increasing twilight and it was Harry. “I’ve got transportation to the hotel and then we’ll leave in the morning for your estates.” He skidded to a stop and bowed.

“Harry. This is my new bride, Lady Iolanthe, and her new maid, Susan,” Charlton said. “How is my mother? And my village? Ulla and the daimyo said Lord Jorge, her father, had taken charge. It that correct?”

“Yes, sir, he has. Your mother is doing much better. Your village and the peasants,” Harry’s voice trailed off.

“That bad?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Mistress Vaughn still alive?”

“She was clinging to life when I left the estate two days ago.”

“Let’s hope she hangs on,” Charlton said. “I want to question her as soon as we arrive. We’ll leave in the morning. In the meantime, you’ll be joining me, my wife, Terrence, and Susan for dinner and probably breakfast tomorrow. I want all of us to know what we’re walking into and that way, you won’t have to repeat yourself. I want every detail of what happened since we left.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, eyes wide.

Iolanthe glanced at Terrence and Susan, both equally wide-eyed. She could understand their astonishment. Servants were never asked to dine with the family. Charlton was desperate enough to not care. Would he be desperate enough to postpone marrying her legally and formally while he dealt with the crisis? She had no rights in DelFino until he officially married her on the land. And where would the DelFino witnesses come from? In Orlov, serfs didn’t count any more than livestock did.

* * *

Another carriage, heavier and sturdier, waited for them outside the hotel in Telduv. She waited until they were inside and private again before asking “are we going to the rail spur?”

“Huh?” Charlton asked. “No, we’re too poor to own a rail-line to my estates. We move everything, goods and people, by wagon.”

“Oh,” Iolanthe said. A day and a half of travel in a cramped carriage over what were likely to be terrible roads. What a good thing that Susan had packed everything she needed to make her pain tea. Her hip and leg would need it.

Charlton read her dismayed expression. He grinned and winked at her. “I’ll have to massage your leg regularly.”

She giggled. “That may have to wait until we have more privacy. Is there a hotel where we’ll stop for the night?”

“Sort of. It’s an outpost for my own people and the occasional traveling peddler. It’s fairly clean. The roof doesn’t leak. We shouldn’t have to eat mil-rats.”

“You take me to all the best places,” Iolanthe said and leaned over for a kiss.

* * *

The huddled cottages of village waited at the end of the road. Even from a distance and after an endless, exhausting journey that was far jouncier and more unpleasant than she had feared, Iolanthe could see the burned thatch and scorched walls clearly. Mistress Vaughn had been thorough with her arson. The odor of ash and soot still lingered in the air. There was a reception committee waiting for them; one well-dressed older man and a crowd of skinny, ragged peasants. They didn’t look any better fed or clothed than Orlov’s own serfs did. Charlton needed a dowry to spend and she had none to offer. He still hadn’t said one word about when they would officially marry, focusing all his attention on discussing what he had to do to save his harvest, rebuild, and recover.

As if she was less important.

And she was less important at the moment, Iolanthe knew, although it hurt. She could wait a few days. These people, her people now, had been ruined because of Albion DelFino and Mistress Vaughn’s complete disregard for anyone else but themselves.

She waited in the carriage, worn out, her hip and leg aching from the endless journey from Telduv while Charlton conferred anxiously with the village headman and the well-dressed man who turned out to be Ulla’s father, Jorge DelFino. The village headman was Paco and Charlton, she observed, knew Paco well enough to hug him although he did not show the same closeness to Jorge DelFino. Then Charlton sent Terrence and Susan on ahead to the manor house with a list of instructions and the baggage cart. Only their coachman and Harry remained.

“Iolanthe,” he said, returning to her in the carriage. “I need to see Mistress Vaughn at once. She’s still alive but Paco doesn’t expect her to last through the night. I know you’re tired. I would like you to accompany me. You’ll see things I’ll miss.”

“I would be honored,” Iolanthe said. He was including her, as if she was already the lady of the estate and responsible for the peasants’ wellbeing as she would have been at Orlov.


	35. You can keep waiting until you meet me and your father in hell

The gray-haired woman waiting outside the shabby cottage was whipcord thin, drawn, and angry. Her fisted hands were dug into her ragged apron pockets, as though to keep them from lashing out. She bowed as Iolanthe and Charlton neared her. The odor of ash and something else uglier intensified.

“My lord, my lady,” she said.

Charlton walked up to her and hugged her fiercely, surprising Iolanthe yet again at his familiar behavior. “Don’t be this way with me, Hedda. I want you to meet my wife, Lady Iolanthe,” he said fondly.

“It’s a pleasure,” Iolanthe said graciously.

“Iolanthe,” Charlton said. “This is Hedda Mbuthee, my village headman’s wife. Without her and Paco, well, I wouldn’t have managed at all.”

“My lady,” Hedda said with a shy smile that transformed her face. “Charlton has told us many good things about you.”

“How kind of him,” Iolanthe said. She realized that everything he had told his villagers was based entirely on his interpretation of what Dimitri had told him and not on firsthand knowledge; that is, he spoke of his imaginary dream girl. These people would be disappointed, but there was nothing she could do to change the past.

“But we are wasting time, I think, Mistress Mbuthee. Mistress Vaughn is at death’s door?”

“That bitch,” Hedda said, angry again. “She’s still alive but not for long. This way. I guess she’s been waiting for you, sir, because she’s said naught to any of us. Not to me and Paco, not to her sister, Mildred, not to her son, not even to the friar and he’s been waiting by her bedside day and night to hear her confession since we found her under the burning thatch. That is, when he hasn’t been attending to those she murdered or burned so badly. Silent as the grave after she stopped screaming, she’s been, and not just because her vocal cords were burned.”

The cottage was as tiny as any serf’s cottage in Orlov, but better lit, with larger glass windows and burning candles arranged to illuminate the friar on his knees praying by the pallet on the floor. The body laying on the pallet, loosely draped with a pale sheet, was barely recognizable as human, her face burned into char, hair burned off, and each breath was a rattle. The odor came from the bed, the smell of soot and charred burnt meat, urine and feces. Another thin, too-tired woman came forward and bowed to Charlton. She had fresh, raw burn scars up and down her arms, as if she had tried to save someone from the fire.

“Sir, I’ve been spooning broth into Mistress Vaughn, but she’s taken nothing else. She’s been waiting for you, I think.”

“Thank you, Mildred,” Charlton said. “Friar, if I may?”

“Of course, my lord,” the friar answered. “She’s made no confession to me or to anyone as to why she set fire to the village and hurt so many. Not a sound, nor a tear after she stopped screaming.”

Charlton knelt besides the pallet. His face was gentle as he gazed into Mistress Vaughn’s ravaged, charred face.

“Mistress Vaughn, I’m Lord Charlton, returned at last. Why did you set fire to the village? Poison my mother? I assume you had an affair with my father and he persuaded you into that wickedness. The daimyo banned Albion from DelFino and whatever my father may have promised you, he will never return.” He paused.

“I pray you did not have anything to do with the death of your husband.”

The woman on the bed stirred. “Water.”

Mildred was besides her pallet in a trice, holding a cup and spooning water into Mistress Vaughn’s mouth, swallow by swallow, while Charlton, Iolanthe, and the friar waited.

After several mouthfuls, Mistress Vaughn slurred “no more.” Her voice was raspy and hoarse from screaming and smoke and soot inhalation. A damp bandage draped her eyes and Iolanthe wondered if she still had eyebrows. Or eyelids. She still wore cheerful enameled daisy earrings, contrasting dreadfully with her ruined face. Their sunny yellow centers and rayed white petals were discolored with soot and body fluids.

“Mistress Vaughn? I’m waiting,” Charlton said firmly.

“You can keep waiting until you meet me and your father in hell,” Mistress Vaughn rasped out. “Your father said you are worthless and it’s true. You should have paid more attention.”

Almost imperceptibly, she sank back against the pallet, breathing slowly and shallowly, and each breath came more shallowly. A few tears leaked out from under her bandaged eyes. Ten breaths and she stopped breathing all together.

“She is gone, my lord,” the friar murmured. “I must go to the next house. Her worst injured victims, those who still live, are there.”

“Yes, friar,” Charlton said. He looked devastated. “I will be along in a few moments. The daimyo told me he would send a medical team from DelFino castle but they won’t be here for a few days. That may comfort their families, to know they have not been ignored.”

“I will pass the message, my lord. They will be most welcome and needed,” the friar replied and left to where he could do more good.

“She stayed alive to hurt you,” Iolanthe asked, breaking the silence. “Are those your mother’s earrings?”

“Yes. Let her be buried in them,” Charlton said. He slumped down and closed his eyes. “They are corrupted, like my father corrupted Mistress Vaughn. I refuse to believe she would have done this if he had not seduced her.”

“My lord,” Mildred said from her stool at the head of the pallet. “You know Mistress Vaughn is my sister. She grieved for her husband when he died. We were never close but even so, I do not believe she harmed him.”

“But she harmed my mother and then burned the village, harming your relatives, your neighbors.”

“Yes, my lord, she did.”

“Did she say anything to you of my father or an affair?”

“No sir. Edith kept her own counsel. She was never one to reveal herself.”

“Do you know why she did this?”

Mildred sat back on the stool in the dim corner and tears leaked from her own eyes. “The day her husband died — and I do not believe she poisoned him although there are those who do — she told me that she wished she could run away to Barsoom, dress in silk and lace, and do as she pleased and not as she must. Then I helped her wash her husband’s body and lay it out for the vigil.”

Iolanthe balanced awkwardly on her own stool and thought of herself, of her maid, Olga, back in Orlov, of Ulla and Nelly and Lannie. Doing as they must and wishing they could do as they pleased. But she, herself, did not harm anyone when she reached for what she wanted.

Olga had asked and been prepared to hear the answer ‘no’ and oh, how overjoyed she had been when she had heard a ‘yes’ instead. Despite what had happened, how glad Iolanthe was that she had said ‘yes’ to Olga’s dream of a husband and a cottage and a family of her own.

Poor Ulla, slave to duty that she was, searching tirelessly while eating herself up with guilt over failing Lannie. She could not have foreseen what would happen by refusing to make wild accusations.

Then there was that Nelly. She did as she pleased and didn’t care who she harmed and it looked like she would succeed, damn her and her sly-boot ways.

And Lannie who ran away, taking the Pearls of Orlov with her. Lannie had enormous reasons to flee the sot, but if she had left the Pearls of Orlov in the cathedral chapel, she would have been safer. She probably would have been found by now, because without the Pearls, she wouldn’t have needed to vanish so completely. No one would pursue her, other than the people who loved her. She was at risk merely by being a sheltered young lady adrift in the streets of Barsoom, but she wouldn’t be murdered for existing without the lure of the Pearls as a reward. She made her choice and she would pay for it, unlike that Nelly.

But it wasn’t just them, doing as they must and seldom as they pleased.

So many other people did. Papa and Uncle Ljubo and Morley in Orlov, struggling to salvage the demesne from both the sot’s mismanagement and the loss of the Pearls. Everyone else in Orlov, trapped in the same snare.

Dimitri, balancing finding the Pearls and keeping Lannie alive and Iolanthe understood, although he couldn’t admit it to her, that the needs of the demesne came first. Before the life of his best friend’s sister. No matter how he wished it otherwise.

Even Zachery, daimyo of DelFino, struggled to balance the needs of DelFino versus what he must have wanted for his own self. The better daimyos did or they did not remain in the position, and Zachery, despite his flaws, cared very much for the wellbeing of his people and lands.

And Charlton. How he must long to walk away from his ruined estates and abandon his peasants and forge a different life somewhere else. A life where he wouldn’t struggle every single damn day trying to fulfill the expectations of everyone living on his estates while constantly coming up short.

Instead, he did as he must and not as he chose and she thought more highly of him than ever. Character showed in actions, not in cheap, empty words, and Charlton would not walk away from his obligations because he didn’t want to be bothered any more.

Iolanthe smiled suddenly at him, sitting next to Mistress Vaughn’s body, his eyes still closed from the body blow she had dealt him with her dying words. She would do as she must and as she pleased, by helping him in his duties to his peasants. She had no dowry to offer, but she could offer her own much needed skills, her own caring support.

“Charlton,” Iolanthe said.

He sat back upright; eyes open again. “My deepest apologies. You must be exhausted.”

“I am, my dear, but I’m healthy and I’ve had some moments of rest. I would like to go with you as you visit the burn victims who are waiting with the friar. And afterwards, I would like to see what else needs to be done.”

He stood up and walked to her, lifting her to her feet. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ll ask the friar to marry us tomorrow at noon, in front of any of my people who show up and my two witnesses from DelFino, my mother and my Uncle Jorge.” He chuckled without any humor. “If we can drag my drunk of a grandfather outside onto the lawn, we’ll have three witnesses from the family.”

“Must he be conscious during the process?” Iolanthe asked. “His presence might be easier to arrange.”

This time Charlton did laugh. “No, probably not. Once we get him out on the lawn? Then yes.” He sighed deeply; all his good humor fled again. “Our wedding will give my mother a happy distraction after I tell her about dad and Lannie.”

“Sir?” Mildred interrupted them. “Don’t listen to my sister. You are not worthless. You paid attention to us, far more than anyone in your family in two generations has. Edith was angry. She did not get everything she wanted.”

“Few of us do,” Charlton replied.

* * *

Once outside, they slowly walked to the next cottage, allowing Iolanthe to work out more of the kinks from the endless carriage ride. This ramshackle cottage was larger and was being used as a makeshift infirmary. Iolanthe leaned on Charlton, hoarding her energy for observing Mildred race to Hedda and have a whispered conversation with much gesturing and then the women split up and buttonholed other villagers. It was hard to tell in the increasing shadows, but neither woman looked angry. They were …. pleased and excited. Interesting. As they ducked into the cottage, she caught sight of a runner heading towards what she assumed was the manor house. It was a large, dark shadow crouched on the top of the hill, commanding the view all around.

Inside, introductions were made and pallets visited. To Iolanthe’s great relief, no one was as severely injured as Mistress Vaughn. These peasants, including two young children, would probably survive although with severe scarring and damage to lungs. Considering that several people had perished in the flames, it was a miracle indeed that Mistress Vaughn had stayed alive as long as she had. Malice and spite were the only logical conclusion, she whispered to Charlton.

* * *

“Sir? I have a few things to attend to in the village,” Harry said, glancing at the whispering knot of peasants watching them leave.

“Really?” Charlton said.

“Yes, sir.”

Charlton waved him off with a baffled shrug.

“As for me, I’ll ride ahead, Charlton,” Jorge DelFino said. “I’ll have your mother waiting.”

“She is better, uncle Jorge?” Charlton asked.

“She continues to show signs of improvement. Cook informs me that Lady Constance is doing _much_ better. Once my daughter, Ulla, worked out what was happening and spoke to Cook, she took charge and brewed her own throat-soothing tisanes from mint. We discuss Lady Constance’s health every morning.”

Charlton sat back in the carriage, disconcerted. “You speak to Cook? Regularly? But you don’t have a cleaver in your skull.”

Jorge looked puzzled. “I’m not sure what you mean. Anyway, after you speak to your mother, we need to talk about your estate. I’ve been working closely with Paco Mbuthee, a smart hard-worker, by the way, continuing the work you began. I have some suggestions.”

“Sure,” Charlton said.

Jorge spurred his horse and cantered down the road towards the manor house. As soon as he was out of earshot, Iolanthe said, “He’s like Ulla. He gets right to the point. Do you know him well?”

“No, not well at all. Paco had only good things to say so I hope he stays.”

“Would Paco be truthful? Jorge is your relative and a DelFino.”

Charlton grinned. “Yes, he would be. Paco is … I can admit this to you. Paco has been more of a father to me than my own dad ever was. Hedda, too, has been a godsend. A few years ago, I really screwed up and when I came home in disgrace, it was Paco who told me I had to get my head out of my ass if I wanted to make something of myself and not turn into my father or grandfather. That’s when I started trying to save my estates and my peasants.”

“He already believed in you, because he took a tremendous risk.”

“Or he felt he had nothing left to lose. He and Hedda have no children. He told me before I left for Barsoom, for that fiasco at the cathedral, that I was the son he and Hedda longed for.”

Charlton’s face was set in stone, as if he expected Iolanthe to say something unkind about a peasant caring about him, and him feeling the same way. She smiled and took his hand in hers. “As I said, my dear,” she said. “It speaks very highly of you, that he is able to be honest.”

Charlton visibly relaxed. “I do want to marry tomorrow on the lawn if you are still willing. It won’t be much, just us, my mother and uncle, the friar, and any of my peasants who can attend.”

“I am willing and I will be much happier with a ceremony here than anything like that travesty at the cathedral.”

I’m falling in love with you, Iolanthe thought. You care for me; I know you do. But will you love me? You said you could in Barsoom but you haven’t said anything since. I should say something but I don’t know what to say, not yet and I couldn’t bear it if you say you’ve discovered you can’t love me.

* * *

The manor house was a large hulk of a house, although nowhere near as large as Orlov Castle was. It did not, in twilight, look as ruined as Charlton, Ulla, and Zachery had indicated it would. On the other hand, Iolanthe reflected, roof leaks didn’t show unless large chunks of the roof itself were missing. The building was surrounded by wide lawns, free-spreading trees, and the weedy remains of what had once been thoughtfully planned gardens, with arbors and walks, statues and fountains. The white blossoms dappled across the beds glowed, a mirror of the stars slowly coming into view overhead. It would not rain tonight and Iolanthe hoped that wherever Lannie was, she would stay dry.

Several chairs had been brought out onto the wide front plaza at the front of the house. A woman with gleaming hair, gold threaded by silver that reflected every bit of the remaining light, sat in one, and behind her stood Jorge DelFino. So, Charlton’s mother did not want to wait inside for the bad news.

Charlton saw his mother from the carriage windows and slumped back into the seat.

“My dad tried to poison her. What I have to say will kill her,” he said.

“You won’t speak to her alone,” Iolanthe said. “And while we do not know where Lannie is, we do not know that she is dead.”

“You have such faith,” Charlton said.

“It is so easy to fall into despair,” Iolanthe said softly. “Despair leaches all the joy, hope, and color out of life. I refuse to give in to its trap. You should not succumb either.”

“You are my rock.”

* * *

Iolanthe took Charlton’s arm as they made their way across the cobblestone plaza to Constance DelFino. Constance was, Iolanthe noted with interest, still astonishingly beautiful. The low evening lighting helped, no question, but even so, she was stunning. Lannie, while pretty enough when not sobbing her eyes out, had not inherited her mother’s superlative loveliness. That was probably why Lannie had the strength of character to resist what was being done to her and find her own way out of her trap. It was probably also why she remained unseen wherever she was. Mere prettiness didn’t stop traffic as Constance Ranaglia DelFino once had and still did.

Charlton made the introductions and Iolanthe sank into a chair, thoughtfully provided by Jorge.

Constance smiled and charmed and had tea ready on a small side table, welcome and refreshing. It seemed she either did not grasp what Charlton was going to say or she did know and was postponing the inevitable.

At last, after tea and gingery cookies, Charlton stood and said, “mama. I must speak. I don’t know what Jorge has told you or Cook and the maids for that matter.” He stopped and looked out at the surrounding grass lawn stretching out into the darkness, dotted with barely visible, tiny white flowers.

Constance looked out as well, her beautiful face lost and sad. “It’s about your father, isn’t it.”

“Part of it is,” Charlton said. He grimly soldiered on. “We think dad had an affair with Mistress Vaughn. He and Mistress Vaughn tried to poison you.”

Tears leaked out from Constance’s blue, blue eyes. She had the bluest eyes Iolanthe had ever seen. Even more amazingly, Constance didn’t instantly become red-eyed when she wept like everyone else.

“I was told that Mistress Vaughn tried to burn down the village.”

“Yes, mama, she did. She died soon after we arrived but she wouldn’t say why. She murdered several of our peasants and injured more. She torched my granary and we’ll all suffer for that, over and above the damaged cottages and ruined lives.”

“I don’t know why she did that,” Constance murmured. Her confusion was real, Iolanthe noticed.

“I believe she was angry and afraid,” Charlton said.

“I must agree,” Jorge said. “I believe what happened is that when my Ulla worked out that the tisanes might be poisoned and spoke to your lady’s maid and to Cook, gossip eventually got back to the village as one would expect. Mistress Vaughn must have panicked and set the fires because she was angry and because she wanted to cover her escape.”

Constance said slowly, “Couldn’t she have just taken a horse and carriage and driven herself to Telduv? She didn’t have to hurt anyone.”

“She didn’t care.”

“I don’t understand that,” Constance said. “I don’t.”

“I know, mama.”

“Where is Albion? I must speak to your father. Ask him for the truth.”

“Zachery banned him from DelFino. He will never return. And mama,” Charlton’s face was set like granite. “If dad does show up, I will hang him in the village square in front of our peasants for what he did to them, to you, and to Lannie.”

Constance moaned and slumped into her chair. “No. You can’t.”

Charlton knelt in front of his mother and took her hands in his.

“I am the lord of these estates now, mama, and I must do my duty by them. Dad tried to poison you. Dad had an affair with Mistress Vaughn. Listen to me!” His voice cracked like a whip.

“I don’t know what he promised Mistress Vaughn but it was enough for her to cooperate in poisoning you. Dad stole the money Zachery earmarked for our estates, money that would have paid to rethatch the cottages that Mistress Vaughn burned. He stole from our peasants. He stole from the demesne. He stole your daisy earrings that you wanted to give Lannie and gave them to Mistress Vaughn. He sold Lannie to the daimyo of Orlov, a vicious drunkard. He wouldn’t have spent her bride price to pay for your medical care or to take care of our peasants or repair anything. He would have gambled that coin and left us high and dry.”

Constance stared at her son. “I cannot believe that. I won’t. Your father is a gentleman like the daimyo of Orlov is a gentleman.”

“Believe it, lady Constance,” Iolanthe said. “The daimyo of Orlov is not a gentleman. He is a vicious drunk who beat his wives whenever the whim caught him. See my hand?” She stripped off her glove and held up her scarred claw of a left hand. “See my cane? See my leg?” She pulled up her skirts, revealing the twist in her left leg.

“Rastislav did this to me when I was a toddler. He was drunk and knocked my mother and me down the main flight of stairs in the grand hall of Orlov Castle. We slammed down the steps and my mother tried to protect me with her own body. Crashing into the huge china vases on the landing are what tore open my hand. My mother lost her baby, my little brother. He was born months before his time and died within the hour and then a year later, she died as well. She never recovered from her injuries and Rastislav the sot never apologized or tried to help or gave a damn about anyone but himself. He would have murdered your daughter and your husband knew it.”

“Albion loves us,” Constance protested.

“He only loves himself, mama,” Charlton said wearily. “I don’t believe we matter to him other than as an audience. Dimitri, Iolanthe’s brother, told me that the daimyo of Goryonov has men waiting to beat dad into a bloody pulp because of his unpaid gambling debts.”

Constance slumped down still further, her eyes closed and her face in her hands. “No. You must be lying,” she whispered.

“Charlton is not, Constance,” Jorge said into the silence. “Albion has a reputation for being an unlucky gambler. Moreover, Zachery himself showed me the books before I left, so I know how Albion defrauded your estates and your peasants.”

“No, no, this can’t be true.”

“It is, Lady Constance,” Iolanthe said.

Constance sat up straighter. “Your father loves me. He said so all the time.”

“He’s an actor, mama,” Charlton said even more wearily. “Who can say what is true with him.”

“I, I ….” Constance’s voice trailed off in confusion. Then she lifted her face from her hands and stared searchingly all around her into the growing darkness.

“Then where is your sister if she did not marry the daimyo of Orlov? Where is Yilanda?”

* * *

“I received good news, Ulla. Silas Avongale would like to meet you again for dinner,” Ottilie said. She smiled her reptilian smile. “You made quite an impression on him wearing Cloris’s risqué dress.”

“How nice,” Ulla said, not bothering to look up from her correspondence. Not one of her many letters or calls had yielded information about Lannie. It had been days and nothing, with each day bringing new despair and dashed hopes. The servants found nothing. The Ranaglia family knew nothing. Lannie’s other friends in Barsoom knew nothing, despite her regular calls to make sure. Shondra actually wrote back and said she had not seen any signs of Lannie and in the same letter begged Ulla to not admit they knew each other because of what Sakamoto would do to her. Ulla sent Shondra money and agreed with a heavy heart to stay away, passing information only by letter.

Worse, the police knew nothing, despite her daily visits to both the main station house of Barsoom and the substation closest to the cathedral to monitor their progress. That private investigator of Dimitri’s told her he’d found nothing, despite her daily visits to his office to confirm his reports. Shopkeepers, salesclerks, pushcart vendors, stablehands, barflies, outdoor café waiters, trolley employees, train station staff, street sweepers, cathedral priests, flower sellers, buskers, carters, back-alley whores, rickshaw haulers, beggars, local residents; she talked to them all and they all claimed they’d seen nothing. At least the morgue at the Great Hospital kept coming up empty. She prayed that was a good sign.

She had not run across Yair Buruk again despite her newfound in-depth knowledge of Barsoom’s streets and alleys and the citizens who populated them. He was undoubtably slaving away towards his impossible dream of a hotel and didn’t have time for her. Truthfully, she didn’t have time for him either and it was foolish to waste energy on useless regrets. When he visited her dreams, she pushed him away.

“Ulla!” Ottilie’s snapped. “Pay attention when I am speaking to you. Silas Avongale is already being watched within the family as potential daimyo material. Walter informed me of what you said all those weeks ago, about you making any man you marry into the daimyo. I passed that tidbit onto his mother and grandmother.”

“Silas doesn’t need me to become the daimyo. He’s ambitious and he has a brain,” Ulla said absently, slitting open another newly arrived letter and seeing in the first paragraph that this penpal had no news. Another stab to the heart reminding her of how she’d failed Lannie.

“Do you have no interest in your future?” Ottilie demanded.

Ulla looked up across the table and met her aunt’s eyes. “I will meet Silas Avongale again, if it means I can stay in Barsoom and search for Lannie. In fact, I’ll meet anyone you want me to, even someone from Keerkehgard, without a word of complaint as long as I can remain in Barsoom.”

“Ulla, you have searched the city doggedly and irritated everyone along the way. If you were going to find Lannie, you would have. She is gone and probably dead.”

“No. I refuse to believe that,” Ulla said. “I’m going to keep looking. Someone saw something. I know they did. I will find that person and I will find Lannie. I won’t fail her again.”

* * *

Walter looked over Naomi Khan as she made her entrance into The Willows. She and her hovering family hadn’t seen him yet, waiting in a dark corner at the bar with his father, Zachery. His facial bruises were largely faded and an elegant long-sleeved shirt concealed the rest. His nose sported a neat bandage but it was apparent it was broken and would never be straight again. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he could see that Iolanthe had been correct. He had a slight air of danger about himself now, something he’d not had before when his profile was perfect in its prettiness. Maybe Naomi Khan would like it. Other young women already had.

“Stars above us,” Zachery murmured. “I think Naomi might be more beautiful than Constance was in her prime. I didn’t think that was possible.”

Walter watched Naomi float through the restaurant to her table. She glided as though she didn’t walk on anything as clumsy as feet. Every single head turned to watch her swaying figure and every face lifted as though her mere presence perfumed the air. Even the waiters, who routinely saw the most beautiful women Barsoom had to offer, couldn’t stop themselves from staring.

“She is absolutely stunning,” Walter said and sipped his wine.

The diaphanous gauze gown Naomi wore drifted like mist about her hourglass of a body, alternately revealing and concealing her luscious figure with each graceful movement. The gauze resembled brilliantly colored gossamer butterfly wings. He’d never seen a dress like it before and guessed, from the chatter rising about Naomi like a refreshing breeze, that it would soon become the latest fashion.

The diaphanous gauze also did a damn good job of obscuring her waist without seeming to do so. It was hard to tell if her waist was as narrow as it seemed. Ottilie and Ulla had both admitted that they believed the Khan family was rushing the meeting because Naomi was pregnant again and they wanted to get her off their hands.

“I am very glad you and Naomi are meeting. I hope you both agree to marry,” Zachery said. “Marrying Naomi would be good for you and very good for DelFino and quite possibly good for Mars. We need those closer connections all the way to Easternmost.”

“More bad news about those Olde Earthe bastards?” Walter asked.

“We’re not sure what is happening on that benighted planet,” Zachery admitted. “Everything official those rapacious bastards say is a lie. We have information sources, but they are unreliable. The signals are … deeply worrying. I am not alone in my fears.”

He looked away, staring into the mirror behind the bar that reflected the mirror on the opposite wall. Their reflections, him and Walter, multiplied into infinity. Zachery considered the terraforming project with generations yet to go before it finished. All that high-tech machinery imported from Olde Earthe, relying on Olde Earth expertise, repairs and equipment, and the most critical operational secrets unknown to any of the citizens of Mars. What would happen to the greatgrandchildren of DelFino, of all of Mars, if it failed? He drained his cocktail empty and ordered another.

“I know my duty, both to DelFino and to Mars,” Walter said. “We’ll see what Naomi has to say.”

He studied Naomi again. She was as beautiful as the Pearls of Orlov. How they would enhance each other, Naomi draped in the Pearls and nothing else. He patted the pocket where the stolen bracelet lay nestled against his heart and wished he had snagged more of the Pearls even though she didn’t deserve to wear them.

If Ottilie and Ulla were to believed, Walter thought sourly, Naomi would say yes by dessert, jump him as soon as they were behind closed doors, and then claim the baby she was already carrying was his. One thing was certain. Her proven fertility was good for DelFino in the long run. He repressed a sigh thinking of who else might father their children. Fortunately, it wouldn’t be any hardship to bed that beautiful face and body paired with the rapacious appetite Ottilie and Ulla claimed she had so he had every chance of making sure future children were his get. He consoled himself with the notion that anyone that beautiful couldn’t possibly be a harpy with a temper like a nest of angry wasps. Auntie Constance was equally beautiful and had the sweetest nature. His aunt and his cousin were jealous of Naomi’s loveliness.

* * *

Albion took a cautious step outside the front door of the Orlov townhouse at dawn, peering all around. He had to escape. Rastislav was even harder to live with sober than he was drunk, Dimitri sneered at him at every opportunity, that stiff-necked butler openly disdained him, the servants uniformly refused to gamble, and there was no distraction left but the library full of boring sermons and improving novels. No invitations arrived for him. None. He had been the toast of dinner parties across the Four Hundred and he might as well have vanished like his ungrateful daughter and the Pearls of Orlov.

Nothing had gone according to plan. He wondered uneasily about the lies Mistress Vaughn would tell about him. She was a peasant at heart and couldn’t be trusted. Damn that harpy, Ulla. She blighted everything she touched.

“Good morning, Mr. DelFino!”

Albion spun, trying to see who else was up at this ungodly hour other than servants, street sweepers, and pushcart vendors.

The first rays of sun illuminated a pair of oversized, cheerful men at the foot of the steps. Labor-castes from the look of them, except they were wearing cheap suits instead of mundane coveralls embroidered with their names and company logos.

“The daimyo of Goryonov sends his regards,” the rougher of the two men said. A finger of light caught the notch in his ear, next to the small tattooed blue circle adorning his shaved skull. He smacked one fist into the palm of his other hand.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” the other man said.

Albion smiled graciously. “How generous of Goryonov to send me greetings and at this hour! Please tell him how very grateful I am that he thinks of me.”

“You can tell him yourself. We’ll escort you right to him,” the first man said.

“That won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to disturb him at his rest,” Albion declaimed, reclining against the carved front door jambs so his shaking legs didn’t betray him. Damnation. Those two or pairs of brutes just like them really were watching the Orlov townhouse exits continuously. He’d thought the front door would be a safer way to leave because he hadn’t believed Goryonov would have him kidnapped on a public street. It was obvious he was wrong. Luckily, his packed bag remained tucked out of view in the entry hall.

“I’m just enjoying the fresh air. So bracing at this time of the morning,” Albion said with a dramatic flutter of his hands and a cheery smile. “Well, I must be off to breakfast with my dearest friend, Rastislav, the daimyo of Orlov. Do give my regards to Goryonov and enjoy your own breakfasts.”

“We will, Mr. DelFino,” the first man said. “Remember to send our thanks to my lord Dimitri for providing all our meals.”

Albion slipped back inside the door and closed it firmly behind him. Hellation and damnation. What was he going to do? Sweat dripped down his back, despite dawn’s coolness.

“Mr. DelFino,” Matsuda said right behind him, making Albion leap into the air with fright. “Breakfast is not yet ready to be served in the morning room.”

“Of course, Matsuda,” Albion choked out. His heart was trying to leap out of his chest via his throat and escape on its own. “Will it be soon?”

“Considering the hour and the daimyo’s habits, no sir, it won’t be,” Matsuda intoned. “I recommend you wait in the library so as to not disturb the daimyo or the staff.”

“The library,” Albion said and groaned.

Matsuda took pity on him. “In addition to the improving novels and sermon collections, our library contains a large selection of plays, both classic and modern. They are located in the far case behind the screen.”

Albion frowned, then brightened as he realized what Matsuda said.

“Really? I shall have to study them.” A reprieve and a potentially fascinating one.

“Yes, sir. I will let you know when breakfast is being served.”

Matsuda watched Albion scamper away to the library with well-concealed satisfaction. There were enough plays in the library to keep that rotted ham busy and out of everyone’s way for years; more than enough time for Master Dimitri to retrieve the Pearls of Orlov, kick Albion out into the waiting arms of those Blue Sun thugs, and shove the sot out of the highest tower window of Orlov Castle.

* * *

“Is she gone?”

“Yes, Mr. Parminder,” John RedHawk said. He had never seen anyone rattle Mr. Parminder the way Ulla DelFino did. “I look at it this way, sir. Miss DelFino passes me lists of every single thing she discovers, yet we can still charge Orlov as though we did the investigations ourselves.”

Mr. Parminder gave RedHawk a pitying look. “That right there is why you will never own an agency yourself, John. Has it occurred to you that Miss DelFino may be ensuring no one will speak to you?”

“They all talk to me, sir. _After_ I commiserate about Miss DelFino’s harpy-like nature. The police in particular have been unusually forthcoming. They desperately want Miss Yilanda DelFino found so Miss Ulla DelFino disappears. She has, if I may say so, been remarkably thorough and is willing to talk to anyone, even back-alley whores.”

“John. A lady of the Four Hundred does not speak to whores.”

“Ulla DelFino does.” RedHawk paused. “Yet she is lying to me, just as Orlov is about something. I am unsure if her lies are on the same issue.”

“All clients lie, John. I only demand that they pay promptly. If their lies delay the investigation thus increasing their costs, they have only themselves to blame.”

“Yes, Mr. Parminder.”

The outer office door’s bell jingled and moments later, their visibly harried secretary reopened the inner office door. Apparently, she had not had enough time to recover from Ulla DelFino’s visit.

“Parminder, RedHawk,” Dimitri Orlov started yelling even before he got inside the office. “Why is Ulla DelFino doing your work for you? I just spoke to her on the street. I am paying _you_ to investigate, not her.”

“Miss DelFino has been kind enough to share her efforts with us,” Mr. Parminder said.

“She has been most thorough and comprehensive, my lord,” RedHawk added. “That said, sir, I get the distinct impression that Miss DelFino is lying about several issues that may be connected to the investigation. Will that be a problem?”

Dimitri smiled reassuringly. “It won’t be. And I can’t imagine that Miss DelFino would ever lie, especially about something as important as finding her cousin.”

“You have told me everything?”

“Naturally. The daimyo is deeply concerned about Miss Yilanda’s whereabouts and each day, his concern grows.”

“I see,” Redhawk said. He caught Mr. Parminder’s subtle gesture.

“You will be happy to know that we have discovered more of the housemaid’s movements since she left the Orlov townhouse.”

“I’m glad to see Orlov coin is getting _some_ results,” Dimitri growled. “Where is Nelly?”

“We believe on her way to Westernmost. The reward fliers brought in several citizens who had been intimate with Nelly. They would not normally complain about an assignation except that Nelly robbed each of the men in question.”

“That does not surprise me,” Dimitri said. “Send someone to capture her. They don’t have to be gentle as long as she remains reasonably healthy. The daimyo wants Nelly brought back to Orlov and punished for her betrayal of my sister, Iolanthe.”

“Yes, my lord Orlov,” Mr. Parminder said.

Both men waited quietly, until after the outer office door opened and closed.

“I have to wonder what else this Nelly did or knows,” RedHawk said. “This is a lot of effort over a runaway housemaid.”

“It hardly matters, John,” Mr. Parminder replied. “As long as they pay.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Out on the street, Dimitri swore under his breath. Those investigating fools, the best of a bad lot, could locate a runaway maid but they couldn’t find Lannie and that meant they couldn’t find the Pearls of Orlov. So far, the disappearance of the Pearls remained a closely kept secret but how long would that last? Too many people knew. At least Ulla and the rest of DelFino were remaining silent on that particular subject. Ulla, however, had not remained silent on the subject of Orlov wasting valuable resources looking for Nelly when they could be spent looking for Lannie. His ears still burned from her ripping him to shreds verbally. He’d never heard language like that from a lady. Talking to back-alley whores was increasing Ulla’s vocabulary, far over and above what stablehands knew.

Like Ulla, Rastislav was becoming increasingly difficult to manage. His newly found sobriety made him harder to manipulate, especially since Madame Orlov was pleased with him. Or so he insisted when he recounted his dreams every morning in tedious detail. Albion, at least, was hiding in the library. He only came out for meals and then insisted on reciting portions of the plays he was memorizing.

Dimitri sighed wearily. Maybe they were all barking mad at Orlov like the daimyo of DelFino claimed. At least papa, Uncle Ljubo, and Morley were coping, running the demesne without Rastislav’s day to day interference. The longer Rastislav stayed away, the sounder Orlov’s business footing became. Up to a point. After that, if the Pearls remained lost, bankruptcy loomed. They were preparing for that eventuality too.

Damn Rastislav and his appetites. He’d shove the daimyo out of the highest tower window at Orlov Castle himself for ruining them all. Revenge for his mother’s death would be worth the blood on his hands and Madame Orlov harassing him in his dreams.


	36. Your father is why we don’t know where your sister is.

“Where is my daughter? Why are you hiding her?” Constance pleaded.

“We don’t know, mama,” Charlton said.

“How can you not know?” Constance ask, puzzled and confused. “Yilanda isn’t a pair of earrings that can be — lost.”

“Let me explain, mama,” Charlton said. “You know Lannie didn’t want to marry Rastislav.”

“For very good reasons, let me remind you,” Iolanthe interjected.

“Who are you again?” Constance asked in open bewilderment.

“Iolanthe is my wife, mama, and tomorrow we’ll make it legal by marrying on DelFino in front of family and our peasants.”

“How can you marry Iolanthe if you are already married?”

“We are getting off track,” Jorge said firmly. “Charlton, I would like you to tell us what happened from the beginning. Iolanthe, if you see a point Charlton missed, please add it. Constance, I want you to listen carefully and if you have a question, please ask and Charlton will do his best to explain it.”

Constance lifted her beautiful, lost face to Jorge. “My daughter is missing.” Her eyes were bright with tears, enhancing their sparkle and Iolanthe felt a surge of jealousy despite how obvious it was that Constance, while superlatively lovely, was still having trouble with her mental faculties.

“Yes, Constance, I know. I want you to listen to Charlton,” Jorge said.

“Please, Charlton,” Constance said. “Tell me what happened to my little girl.”

Charlton started again. By fits and starts, he and Iolanthe explained and re-explained to his mother what happened to his sister and their poor guesses as to where she was. It was full dark by the time they finished and Constance was able to accept their story.

She slumped in her chair, Jorge’s hand on her shoulder. “My Yilanda, lost.”

“Yes, mama, she’s lost. Everyone is looking, especially Ulla and Iolanthe’s brother, Dimitri. They’ll find her.”

“But you’re not looking for your sister.”

“No, mama. I am not. Zachery demanded I come home because of what Mistress Vaughn did to our peasants. If I stayed in Barsoom, our estates would have been given to someone else in the family and I and you and Iolanthe would have been told to leave. We would have had to repatriate to Ranaglia and we would be penniless and we wouldn’t have been able to search for Lannie.”

Constance stared out into the velvety night for a long, long time, surrounded by the night sounds of tiny frogs, buzzing insects, and owls hunting tiny squeaking animals. By unspoken accord, Charlton, Iolanthe, and Jorge let her think in peace.

At last she spoke. “Your father did this, didn’t he.” She sounded more lost than ever and her face was wet with tears.

“Yes, mama,” Charlton said. “But I failed too. I thought I could get Lannie’s bride price for your medical care and our peasants’ needs and still save her from Rastislav. I was wrong.”

“But you tried to save Yilanda.”

“Yes, mama, I did. And you, and Iolanthe, and our peasants.”

“I thought we were enough for your father. I thought I was enough,” Constance murmured. “Albion, how could you? I love you. I loved you from the moment I saw you.”

“Mama, I know you do. But dad, well, he’s never been happy here and, and…” Charlton’s voice trailed away.

“Albion is selfish and weak,” Jorge said. “Few of us are handed happiness. It has to be earned. He was not grateful for what he had and so he threw it away, reaching for something he thought might be more amusing. He was wrong and you should not blame yourself, Charlton. I’ve learned a great deal about how hard you’ve been working since my arrival last week.” He looked down at Constance and patted her shoulder reassuringly.

“None of you are at fault,” he added. “I include you, Constance. This was all Albion’s doing. I don’t know why he behaved so destructively when he had such promise and so many blessings.” Jorge looked away into the night and his face was as lost as Constance’s. “Some people just don’t care how they harm the people they claim they love.”

“Albion wanted what he wanted,” Iolanthe said. “He did not care what the cost was to anyone other than himself. Many people are like that but we do not have to emulate them.”

“You seem very sensible, Iolanthe,” Jorge.

“Thank you, Jorge,” Iolanthe said. “I try. Although,” — she smiled up at Charlton — “my family will tell you I let my imagination run away with me on occasion.”

Constance began to cough and Charlton said, “You haven’t coughed for hours, mama. You are better.”

She nodded and sipped fragrant mint tea from her porcelain cup. “Cook will not let me eat or drink anything that she doesn’t specifically approve.”

“I will thank her on bended knees,” Charlton said. “I was afraid I would lose you as well as Lannie.”

Constance looked wonderingly into her cup and spoke to it rather than the people around her. “Your father made me ill.”

“Yes, mama, he did.”

“Your father is the reason Mistress Vaughn burned the village.”

“I’m afraid so, mama.”

“Your father is why we don’t know where your sister is.”

“Yes, he is. But we will find Lannie. I swear it on my name. We will never stop looking for my sister.”

“I can’t bear the thought of my daughter lost.”

“None of us can, mama. I know we fought all the time but I still miss Lannie terribly.”

The night sounds filled the silence around them, a low chorus of insects, frogs, and the whisper of breezes darting through the surrounding trees.

She turned her face from the cup and gazed at Iolanthe as though she was seeing her for the first time.

“You have a very pretty name, Iolanthe. You don’t seem like a harpy.”

Iolanthe laughed while Charlton grimaced with embarrassment.

“It’s a long story, mama,” he said. “But no, Iolanthe is not a harpy and she’s becoming very dear to me and I hope you will come to care for her too. We’ll marry tomorrow on the lawn with you and Jorge and maybe grandfather as witnesses. Our servants and peasants, too, if any of them wish to attend.”

“That would be lovely. I wish Yilanda could be here.”

“We all do. We will find her, mama. I refuse to believe she won’t come home to us.”

Iolanthe took Constance’s hands in her own and noted with pleasure that Constance did not flinch away from the touch of her twisted left hand as so many people did.

“I hope you are pleased that Charlton and I are marrying.”

“How could I not? You seem sweet and lovely and Charlton is my son. I want him to be happy.”

“I will be, mama,” Charlton said and turned to brush his lips across Iolanthe’s own. “I will be.”

Constance suddenly pulled her hands from Iolanthe’s. “Oh! If you are to marry tomorrow, we must pick flowers.”

“In the morning, Constance,” Jorge said.

She looked all around her and laughed. “How silly of me. It’s dark.”

* * *

“Your mother is not what I imagined her to be,” Iolanthe said. She was contentedly leaning up against Charlton’s naked body in the big, comfortable bed, far more comfortable than the dreadful bed at the outpost and infinitely better than the days jouncing along in the carriage from Telduv. He had massaged her leg and the rest of her thoroughly and she felt boneless and oh, so good.

“She is stunningly lovely and so sweet-natured. Is she, uh —”

“Always so vague?”

“Well, yes.”

“Actually, she’s doing really well compared to the last few months. They were awful. Mama was always easily distracted, but that was... It’s hard to describe.” Charlton stared up at the ceiling. The water stains had been painted over at Ulla’s insistence and he wondered briefly when they would return.

“I think now that dad encouraged her to ignore her surroundings so he could do what he wanted.”

“Perhaps he did. She seems to be very relaxed with your uncle Jorge.”

“Yeah. It’s nice to see him smile. Did Ulla tell you about her mother?”

“No.”

“I’ll let her do it. It’s painful family gossip, I don’t know the truth, and I don’t want to get it wrong.”

“Ah. That kind of story.”

“Oh, yeah. Still want to marry me?” he asked. His voice was careful, flat and empty, and she sensed her response mattered deeply. “Now that you’ve seen the ruin you’re walking into? And you’ve met my mother? You haven’t met my drunk of a grandfather so keep that in mind. I will take care of you, no matter what you decide.”

“Let me think.” She felt Charlton tense against her. “Yes. I do.”

He exhaled and pulled her closer. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

But you won’t say that you love me, Iolanthe thought. I wonder why. I wonder if you will. You show how you feel with how you behave, but you won’t say the words as if you can’t. I don’t know if I should. Perhaps later, I suppose, as I get to know you better. At least I will have some legal standing and I’m desperately needed here.

* * *

The morning was — odd was the only way to put it. Iolanthe expected to spend time with Constance getting ready for an intimate wedding ceremony but as far as she could tell, her future mother-in-law’s sole concern was selecting the right flowers from the weedy gardens. Her taste was both exquisite and surprising. She created amazing arrangements of flowers and greenery that Iolanthe would have never dared assemble proving, as Charlton said, his mother was an artist with flowers. The glorious needlework portraits of flowers adorning every room in the crumbling manor house (he hadn’t been kidding about its condition) attested to her skill with thread. Constance should have been the toast of the Barsoom art world.

While she and Constance were conferring over flowers, the servants raced around them, too busy to make even the most basic introductions that Iolanthe had expected as the new mistress of the household. Her new maid, Susan, was equally busy. She had insisted on devoting her energy to Iolanthe’s only surviving Orlov dress: the one she had worn at the cathedral and at the Justice of the Peace’s office in Barsoom when she married Charlton the first time and later that evening when the full extent of Nelly’s betrayal was revealed.

So far, Susan didn’t seem anything like Nelly (other than her needle skills) and Iolanthe prayed that this would remain true. Damn Nelly anyways, stealing mama’s jewelry and destroying her garments. All Nelly had to do to vanish was walk away, but that hadn’t been enough to suit her rage. Iolanthe firmed her shoulders. It was time and past to quit wasting regrets over Nelly. That lying doxy was long gone and, despite what Dimitri claimed, would never be found or punished.

Nelly’s escape into a life of her own choosing would be worth it, if they found Lannie in exchange.

* * *

The third-class rail car turned out to be crowded and uncomfortable. It was infinitely less luxurious than the first-class accommodations she had shared with that soppy Miss Iolanthe or the second-class compartment she had to herself when Miss Iolanthe needed privacy.

But it was cheap. Nelly had been horrified at the cost of a ticket to Westernmost. She should have sold more fake pearls or some of Miss Iolanthe’s jewelry or stolen a bit more coin from each of the gentlemen she had entertained in Barsoom. That damned bint’s complaining had made sure she had no time to sell pearls or favors. Instead she had to elude that private investigation firm searching for her all over Barsoom so as to drag her back to Orlov.

It had been a lucky escape. Nelly could guess exactly what the sot would have done to punish her in front of everyone in Orlov and that made where she was sitting completely acceptable. The bench she sat on smelled like hundreds of bodies had sat there before her and the worn-down padding and dingy upholstery proved it, but she was free. As she wiggled and squirmed into a more comfortable position, Nelly said a little prayer that Miss Iolanthe was limping through the streets of Barsoom, alone and hungry and friendless. Or equally acceptable, that Charlton DelFino was beating her on a regular basis. It would be frosting on the cake if he didn’t marry her, thus ensuring that soppy Miss Iolanthe had no more rights than Nelly had, back when the sot did as he pleased and treated her like his personal whore.

Nelly felt a warm glow of satisfaction. Things were working out even if not quite according to plan. She enjoyed the view out the window at the road rushing by and all the dumb slobbos trudging along in the mud and light rain. Her seat was cheap, but she was warm, dry, out of the rain, and on her way to Westernmost. And thanks to a friendly conductor, she didn’t have to sleep sitting upright on the bench.

Luckily, not all of the sleeping berths had been filled for this particular journey to Westernmost. The friendly conductor had been glad to let her sleep in an empty berth in exchange for her own services. He was reasonably enjoyable — better than the sot at any rate — making the berth free, saving her scarce coin for the overpriced meals in the dining car.

That damned Miss Iolanthe. It was her fault that she had to be careful about the cost of her meals. Nelly had already flirted with the dining car waiters, but they weren’t as friendly. Still, she had to eat in the dining car or the club car rather than grab cheap boxes of cooked grains from the snack-bar if she wanted to meet fine gentlemen. Sometimes she got lucky and that meant she ordered what she wanted and didn’t have to pay out any money at all.

It would be time for dinner soon. The train had stopped in Bester, so there would be a new selection of lonely, bored gentlemen roaming the cars looking for pleasant company. Nelly had already learned that it was important to be discreet and tip the staff well, so she didn’t get asked to leave. Luckily for her, tips didn’t have to come in the form of scarce coin.

Her dress was getting a bit rumpled but after she freshened up in the lady’s lounge, the low lighting in the club car would conceal the wrinkles. Her low neckline would also distract attention away from the fact that she’d worn the same dress two days in a row. A bit of the perfume a gentleman had bought her in Barsoom would finish the job.

Once finished in the lady’s lounge — she noted with pleasure that no one ever questioned her right to be there — Nelly made her swaying way to the club car. She thought of Mrs. Pondicherry, swaying when she walked so every man stared. Even though they hadn’t had many chances to speak during the journey from Orlov to Barsoom, Nelly had studied Mrs. Pondicherry every chance she got. That Miss Iolanthe had been good for one thing. She’d wanted to chat up Mrs. Pondicherry too, as though that ugly, crippled bint would ever learn anything useful.

Nelly took her seat, fluttered her eyelashes at the waiter, and ordered a glamorous cocktail adorned with fruit slices. Mrs. Pondicherry had drunk these so they must be the correct thing to order. It _was_ good tasting with a delightful kick. For the price, it should have come with a pearl on the side. She took another careful sip, needing to make the drink last until someone else paid for another and there she was.

Mrs. Pondicherry was smiling and flirting with a nondescript man at the other end of the club car.

Nelly waited and watched patiently. The man with Mrs. Pondicherry appeared dull in the extreme, but Mrs. Pondicherry, professional that she was, behaved as though he was an adored prince of the Four Hundred. As soon as the man stood (practically disappearing into the wallpaper he was so incredibly forgettable in appearance and clothing) she jumped to her feet and ran to intercept Mrs. Pondicherry before she escaped into the next car after him.

“I’m so happy to see you again, Mrs. Pondicherry,” Nelly gushed as she blocked Mrs. Pondicherry’s exit.

“Do I know you?” Mrs. Pondicherry asked suspiciously.

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” Nelly said. “I was Miss Iolanthe Orlov’s lady’s maid. We met on the train from Nourz to Barsoom.”

Mrs. Pondicherry relaxed. “Oh yes, I recall now. Is Miss Iolanthe traveling to Westernmost? Perhaps with her delectable brother, Master Dimitri?” She made a shimmying motion, emphasized by the fringe on her gown.

“No, ma’am. I’m traveling by myself,” Nelly said. She swallowed envy of Mrs. Pondicherry’s gorgeously trimmed dress. She’d get one just like it as soon as possible. “I’d love to have a chat with you.”

“You’re all alone? Please do join me at my table.” Mrs. Pondicherry gave Nelly a good looking-over. “Let me order a drink for you and a nibble for us both. If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Pondicherry, I don’t mind. I’d be thrilled,” Nelly said, beaming.

“Do tell me why you’re traveling alone. Miss Iolanthe seemed most pleased with your services,” Mrs. Pondicherry said.

Nelly laughed harshly. “That stupid, soppy, crippled bint. This is what happened,” and she plunged into how she’d fooled them all and escaped into a life of her very own choosing.

When she finished, she glowed at Mrs. Pondicherry in triumph.

“How very clever you have been, Nelly,” Mrs. Pondicherry said. “So enterprising and resourceful. You are quite sure you escaped Miss Iolanthe successfully?”

“Yes, indeed, Mrs. Pondicherry,” Nelly said proudly. “That ignorant bint never once twigged I had bigger plans than spending the rest of my life slaving over her ugly crippled body.” She decided instantly to not reveal that Orlov was looking for her.

“That’s good to know,” Mrs. Pondicherry said. “Do let me order you another drink and another appetizer. I know how hard it is to find your feet when you’re escaping a lifetime of servitude. Nelly, my dear, Orlov might be searching for you so you need to be careful. They won’t forgive you for abandoning Miss Iolanthe, destroying her garments, and stealing her jewelry.”

“They’ll never find me,” Nelly said confidently. “They’ll think I’m on the other side of Barsoom so I’m closer to my family. As if I’d ever have anything to do with those clods. Filthy ignorant serfs, every last one of them.”

She daringly reached a hand to pat Mrs. Pondicherry’s own gloved and beringed hand. Those rings were gorgeous and she entertained a quick daydream of how to get them away from Mrs. Pondicherry so she could admire them on her own hand.

“I want to be just like you. An adventuress taking what I want.”

“How flattering,” Mrs. Pondicherry said with a rippling laugh. “I must warn you; it isn’t quite as easy as you imply.”

“I can do it,” Nelly said and bared her teeth. “No one will ever use me again. I’ll use _them_. I will never be at anyone’s beck and call again.”

“We must talk further, Nelly. You remind me of myself when I was younger. I’ll teach you the ropes. Would you like to join me in my first-class compartment? So much more private for a discussion of this nature,” Mrs. Pondicherry said. “I’ll order a nice, intimate supper for us.”

“I would love to,” Nelly gushed.

Everything was working out beautifully. She’d fooled that soppy Miss Iolanthe, she’d escaped with jewelry and fake pearls, she’d fled Barsoom in the nick of time and here was Mrs. Pondicherry, offering to take her under her wing. This was the luckiest day in her very lucky life. She’d vanish and get the life she dreamed of, the life she deserved. And somewhere, that soppy Miss Iolanthe was miserable.

* * *

“My dears? It’s time,” Jorge said. He had changed into fresh clothes from what he’d worn at breakfast before starting the day.

“Yes,” Constance beamed. “We’ve filled the house with flowers and made so many garlands!”

“They are lovely as always,” Jorge said. He helped Iolanthe to her feet. “Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you,” Iolanthe said. She was getting her wish. Charlton was legally marrying her. She would have some legal rights to DelFino. They could no longer throw her out into the streets. Although there were only two witnesses, three if his drunk of a grandfather regained enough consciousness to participate. Was that enough for DelFino’s rules? It wasn’t for Orlov. The entire family was expected to observe and witness along with witnesses from the family of the woman marrying in. She steeled herself.

“Will you and Constance meet DelFino’s legal requirement of witnesses?” she asked Jorge.

“Yes. If there are questions, Charlton has already told me he’ll marry you again at DelFino Castle. He may do it anyway when he introduces you to the rest of the family at the Winter Solstice gala. Everyone will attend this year because we’ll be voting on who will be the next daimyo, Zachery or someone else.”

So. Still not quite legal. But she was getting closer and he cared. He didn’t say the words, but Charlton cared deeply. If only they knew where Lannie was. And the Pearls of Orlov. And that she had a huge dowry to pay for the needed repairs to the manor house and grounds, the village, the roads. As long as she was wishing for the moons, Iolanthe decided, she might as well wish she had Dimitri and papa with her too.

Charlton met them in the front entry way, the marble floors and mirrors gleaming and reflecting their images in every direction. Constance’s most elaborate arrangement spilled out of a crystal vase on the center table. It was brilliantly colored, lofty, perfumed, and daringly full of nodding grass tassels and sat surrounded by a bed of artistically draped damp grass sprinkled with the kind of tiny flowers that would never show in a vase.

“You look wonderful,” Iolanthe told Charlton and he did.

“I owe it all to Terrence,” Charlton said. “I’d never look this good on my own. He even insisted on shaving me again for the occasion.”

“Has he said anything about marrying Cook as he asked in Barsoom?”

“Yes. He says the friar will marry them tomorrow, instead of waiting a week.”

“Has Cook confirmed this?” Iolanthe asked suspiciously.

“I haven’t spoken to her.” Charlton looked momentarily uneasy. “I haven’t braved the kitchens yet. She comes at me with a cleaver whenever I go near her.”

“That sounds like a gross exaggeration,” Iolanthe said.

“Yes, it does,” Constance added. “Cook is sweetness herself.”

“I’ve never had an issue,” Jorge said.

“Hah!” said Charlton.

“My lady? I have your dress ready,” Susan said. Her arms were full of lustrous, creamy peach silk dotted with pearls. “I have to get you dressed!”

“Go, my dear,” Charlton said. “You’ll look even more ravishing than you do now.”

* * *

Charlton waited for her outside her dressing room and applauded when she came out.

“You look delicious. And is that the DelFino sigil on your dress?”

“Yes,” Iolanthe said. She stroked her hands wonderingly down the bodice and skirts. “Susan resewed all the pearls. Can you believe it? She’s been sewing her eyes blind for hours.”

“Not blind, miss, and it was my choice,” Susan said. “You’re part of DelFino now and I wanted everyone to know it.”

“From the sounds outside, I think we may have a few guests up from the village,” Charlton said. “Shall we?”

“Oh yes,” Iolanthe said and he swept her up in his arms to descend the stairs and go outside.

* * *

Jorge opened the broad front doors with a smile. Charlton led Iolanthe out, her arm in his and they both stopped, stunned at the sight spreading across the plaza and lawns and into the weedy gardens beyond.

Everyone from the village was waiting, happy and cheering, and the servants of the manor house and stables as well. Someone had dragged out every table and set them up off to one side and filled them with food and flowers. Someone else had set up a pair of canopies. One, garlanded with flowers, had the friar waiting underneath it. The other canopy was more unexpected. Another someone had arranged for Mistress Vaughn’s victims to be brought along on stretchers to enjoy the wedding of the lord of the estates in some comfort. They were surrounded by flowers and Iolanthe realized why Constance had used all the vases in the manor house; once filled, they kept disappearing. Someone knew how to keep Constance and herself occupied.

Paco and Hedda Mbuthee, dressed in their best clothes, waited with broad smiles.

“I, I don’t know what to say,” Charlton stammered to them. His village headman and his wife had made all the arrangements for a celebration when he had expected nothing of the kind.

“Thank you is a good start,” Iolanthe murmured, wide-eyed and joyful. A similar show of affection and approval would have never happened in Orlov, proof again of how Charlton was regarded by his people compared to Rastislav. Members of her own family did not receive this regard from the serfs of Orlov, even when she knew they were esteemed rather than loathed. Rastislav forbade any celebrations that weren’t about him, as had his father and grandfather before him.

“We wanted you to know how much we appreciate what you’ve done for us, Charlton,” Paco said. “We’ve been putting this together, Hedda in particular, since you left the village last night.”

“We hope you’re pleased,” Hedda said eagerly.

“I am. Oh, I am,” Charlton said, overwhelmed.

“Wait!” Constance came scurrying up, followed by her lady’s maid laden with still more flowers. “You can’t go yet. I have flower crowns for you. Let me put them on you and Iolanthe.”

“Thank you, mama.” He dipped his head so his mother could set a chaplet on his head and Iolanthe did the same.

Constance regarded them wistfully, crowned with exuberant, lavish flowers. She said softly “I wish your sister could be here.” Her eyes were bright with tears.

“We all do, mama.”

“We do, my lord,” Paco said. “All of us in the village too.”

“You have my deepest thanks, Paco,” Charlton said. “Shall we go, my dear?”

Iolanthe smiled up at him, her face on view to all. She was among family and friends and did not feel the need to veil herself.

* * *

“I want both of you to know that I and the family are very disappointed with your behavior,” Mairéad said.

“It was that damn Charlton DelFino’s fault,” Harcourt moaned from his bed. He was wrapped in bandages from head to toe and unlike his brother, in traction because of how Charlton had shattered his leg bones. They shared a room at the Great Hospital and, according to their team of doctors, would for weeks to come with months of rehabilitation afterwards.

“It’s always someone else’s fault with you, Harcourt, so shut up and listen for a change,” Mairéad replied crisply. “This started because neither you nor your brother were able to control yourselves during your dinner with that harpy, Ulla DelFino. I told you how to behave. I told you what to expect from her. What did you do? You ignored me and did as you pleased, just like always.”

“It wasn’t all Charlton’s fault,” Andreas lisped from his own bed. “It was really Walter’s. He set us up.” Talking without his front teeth was a challenge.

“You trusted Walter DelFino? You deserve a harsher beating than what that thug gave you,” Mairéad snapped.

“He’s our first cousin,” Harcourt mumbled. “He’s Keerkehgard.”

Mairéad slapped her hand down on the cast encasing Harcourt’s broken leg, making him scream.

“You are a complete and utter moron,” she shouted over Harcourt’s whimpering. “Walter’s mother was Keerkehgard until the day she married Zachery. She became DelFino that day. That’s how it works when you marry in. Her son Walter is a _DelFino_ , first, last, and always. Unlike the two of you, he will never do anything to damage DelFino. He knows his duty to his family, his daimyo, and his demesne. Even that thug Charlton knows his duty to family better than you do.”

“Then we are better off without that DelFino harpy,” Andreas mumbled sullenly. “She would have been the same.”

“Moron!”

Andreas cringed as Mairéad stepped over to his bed and didn’t relax even while he saw how she kept her hands clenched at her sides. He recognized his peril and remained silent, not wanting to anger his aunt still further.

Mairéad glared down at him. “Ulla knows her duty. She would have become Keerkehgard just as I did when I married in from Sakamoto. She would have brought us her fresh genes, her connections, her dowry, her self-discipline, hard work, drive, and intelligence. In exchange, we would have told DelFino what they could have researched on their own about tree plantations. With _her_ drive, she might have even been able to rehabilitate your public image. Keerkehgard lost a prize because of _you_.”

“She baited us,” Andreas slurred through his damaged mouth and waited for her slap, relieved when it didn’t come.

“And you rose to the bait like dogs chasing a bitch in heat! I told you before dinner that Ulla DelFino was your last chance at marrying a lady of the Four Hundred. Too many people knew about your characters then and everyone on Mars knows now. That fool Zachery didn’t which is why you were allowed to meet Ulla. He didn’t bother to listen to his matchmaker, Ottilie.”

“That doesn’t change the fact this was Walter’s fault,” Andreas shot back in fury and she smacked him across his broken ribs, making him shriek.

The matchmaker of Keerkehgard waited until the noise of sobbing ebbed and she could be sure she would be heard.

“You were morons,” Mairéad crossed her arms across her ample bosom and glared at Andreas and Harcourt until they wilted into puddles. “But as a loving, generous aunt to both of you” — she waited in case they chose to argue and smiled icily when they didn’t — “I will pass this bit of good news on to you.”

Even through pain that made him long for unconsciousness, Andreas recognized his cue. “My deepest gratitude, aunt Mairéad.”

Harcourt mumbled something incoherent and she chose to let it pass.

“Ottilie contacted me this morning.”

“May I ask why you spoke with her?” Andreas enunciated carefully, grateful she hadn’t smacked him in the mouth, damaging his teeth and jaws still further. Gods, but his mouth hurt and it was hours before his next dose of pain medication and the oblivion it would bring.

“That’s better, Andreas. Remind me that you are not as stupid as Harcourt. Remind me that your youngest brother, the only member of your direct line who still has a chance of marrying well and fathering children, might not be the total loss that you and Harcourt have become.”

“My apologies again, aunt Mairéad,” Andreas mumbled.

“Yes, _of course_ I spoke to Ottilie. She is DelFino’s matchmaker! We all talk to each other no matter what foolishness and squabbles our matches get up to. It’s our job. I can’t do my job if I refuse to work with women I despise.”

“Yes, aunt Mairéad.”

“Remember that in case you or your worthless brother are ever able to go out in public again. You won’t have to punish Walter DelFino. Ottilie told me the most remarkable story, proving that DelFino chose a fool for their daimyo. Zachery arranged a marriage between his only son, Walter, and Naomi Khan.”

“I don’t know who she is,” Andreas enunciated even more carefully. All this talking was making his jaws hurt ferociously.

“Because you and your cretin of a brother don’t bother listening or asking questions. Naomi Khan is stunningly beautiful, fully fertile, well-dowered, well-connected, and has a temper like a nest of angry wasps. She’s also a slut which is how we know she’s fertile.”

“So what?” Harcourt rejoined the conversation.

“Shut up, Harcourt,” Andreas snarled before his aunt could.

“So Naomi Khan will punish Walter DelFino every single waking moment for the rest of their married lives. That harpy will do a better job than either of you ever could and she’ll present Walter with heirs that he didn’t father himself. A stablehand perhaps? A rickshaw hauler? One of Walter’s cousins or dear friends or a hated enemy? He’ll never know.”

Andreas thought about this and began wheezing painfully, the closest he could come to a laugh with his broken ribs, but it was worth the agony.

“You have our deepest thanks, auntie Mairéad, for visiting us.”

“I’m the last visitor you’ll get. You’ve damaged Keerkehgard and if you cannot redeem yourselves, you’ll die in exile.”


	37. You’re becoming the most dangerous person I know.

She was legally married, something she had never believed she would be. Legally married to a man she was falling in love with yet she wasn’t sure if he felt the same since while Charlton’s actions said one thing, his words said another.

Even so, normal life went on. When the ceremony and celebration were over, everyone had to get back to work.

Charlton changed into grubby clothes, kissed Iolanthe goodbye with his apologies and returned to the village with Jorge and his headman, Paco. The manor house’s servants began cleaning up, leaving Iolanthe to sit in the drawing room with a pad of paper and consider what she was going to do next. She could manage Orlov Castle with its staff of hundreds but that staff knew who she was and what her capabilities were. Equally important, she knew the exact condition of every room in Orlov Castle from the grand ballroom down to the meanest attics and their furnishings.

Having enjoyed a full day’s residence, she could already see how badly Charlton’s manor house needed a guiding hand and guess at how many much bigger problems remained hidden. She made a note on her pad to ask about insect infestations, vermin, and terraformers. There were more clues overhead. Those painted-over water stains on the ceilings would reappear in short order if she didn’t have the leaks located and patched. Iolanthe cringed. She was sitting in a room on the main floor which said, as plainly as if the house had spoken, that the leaks were infiltrating the walls of the manor house: a three-story building with additional attics and basements. Leaks like what the stains were implying guaranteed mold, fungi, and terraformers grew inside the walls where they couldn’t be seen. She made another note. Unfortunately, an entirely new roof would have to wait at the end of a long list of needs.

Perhaps Zachery was correct. The manor house would be repaired more completely if it was burned to the ground and then rebuilt. He, however, wasn’t going to pay for a rebuild.

She looked around again, tapping pen on paper, wishing again she had a dowry of coin and not skills. Constance wouldn’t be any help in deciding what to tackle first.

Her new mother-in-law had drifted among the peasants — smiling, chatting, and cooing at babies —then vanished back into her solarium to embroider more flowers. They were stunningly lovely portraits to be sure, but useless. Although. Iolanthe turned her attention to the wall opposite her while her hand went still. Shadows on the faded wallpaper shouted the locations of sold artworks, replaced by Constance’s artistry in smaller frames. She’d never seen more gorgeous thread paintings and if Constance’s work could be sold — at a premium because they were rarities representing the time, expertise, and talented hand of a lady of the Four Hundred — that would bring in much needed coin. Eventually.

Iolanthe made a note to discuss this possible source of income later with Charlton. Considering his desperate need for cash, she doubted he would complain about selling his mother’s artistry rather than save it for future generations. If necessary, she could point out that selling a few embroidered paintings would patch the roof and save the rest of the heirlooms from water damage.

In the meantime, Constance was just as inadequate when it came to managing the manor house as Ulla had described. She was sweet-natured, generous, and oblivious to her surroundings because she remained absorbed in her own dreamy world of color and flowers and embroidery floss. Constance didn’t notice when the sheets needed mending or the rain blew in through the broken windows.

Ulla had been depressingly accurate about Charlton’s grandfather. He was best ignored for the time being. He (drunk but not nearly as bad as the sot could get) had flatly refused to dress and leave his bedchamber. Iolanthe was unsure if he had bothered to stagger over to the window to witness the wedding ceremony and celebration of his only grandson.

The openly incompetent housekeeper wasn’t a feeble crone yet, but she was rapidly heading in that direction and needed to be pensioned off so she could drink herself to death in peace. She had thoroughly enjoyed the celebration and was currently hidden, presumably sleeping off her binge. Iolanthe didn’t know where the housekeeper was hiding, but it was quite possible she’d smuggled extra alcohol upstairs to share with Charlton’s grandfather in his bedchamber. Ulla was convinced that they tippled together and she was probably right.

The butler, Ruckers, was a wheezing ancient who should have been given a cozy cottage and a pension a decade ago. He spent much of the celebration shooting dice with the two footmen and any villagers he could coerce into playing. He won too, leading Iolanthe to wonder if he’d spent his golden years learning how to cheat without being detected. Appallingly, he got less respect than the housekeeper did. Matsuda or Grimaldi would never allow a household to disintegrate like this butler had. The same was true of the butler in Orlov Castle and she suspected it was true of DelFino Castle’s butler.

The maids were like maids everywhere, whether they were scullery maids or parlor maids. They would work only as hard as they needed to. To do better, they needed direction, encouragement, and praise. A tiny salary for their very own would be nice too, although currently not possible. The two footmen were similar; they could work harder than they did. Ulla had provided plenty of information about each servant in the manor house. They all respected, even feared _her_. They had yet to learn what Iolanthe required from them and were waiting to see the kind of mistress she would be.

Ulla had also provided information about the gardener (hugely overworked and in desperate need of some under-gardeners), the coachman, and the two stablehands. Those men, while vital to the running of those portions of the estates, did not hold sway over the manor house itself.

The peasants’ opinions, from the headman down to the goosegirls and the swineherd, didn’t matter to the manor house servants. Unless they had relatives in the village, in which case how Iolanthe managed the manor house mattered very much since it would demonstrate how she would take care of the peasants’ needs. They needed so much but one issue at a time. Iolanthe made a note to write to the daimyah and introduce herself and plead that a schoolteacher be assigned to Charlton’s estates along with a request for a permanent village nurse if one could be found who would accept a transfer to the poorest, most isolated village in DelFino. She sighed. A dowry would be so useful because a tiny salary might lure a teacher or a nurse out to the hinterlands. The improved status, while valuable, did not mean better eating and a roof that didn’t leak, nor would it encourage the teacher’s family to relocate away from everyone and everything they knew.

That left one person who knew what the manor house needed, who knew everyone, whose word could be trusted, who was reliable, who was hardworking, who was respected by one and all, and who brooked no interference with her sworn duty from anyone. Iolanthe needed this person’s backing and respect if she was to run the manor house and bring it back into good condition and prosperity. This person had the authority to ensure that Iolanthe’s orders would not be ignored.

She needed to speak with Cook.

Who was right about Cook?

Charlton, Ulla, and Walter feared her and stated she was a demon armed with a cleaver. Constance insisted Cook was as sweet-natured as she was herself. Jorge considered Cook to be a professional worthy of respect and treated her as such. Charlton said Lannie was afraid of Cook but could sometimes coax her into cooperating. Terrence, Charlton’s valet, claimed Cook was the sweetest woman on Mars and wanted to marry her the next day. Iolanthe had sent Susan to ask discreet questions about Cook and the answers had reinforced Ulla’s opinion. Harry and Saul, the two DelFino servants who had arrived with Ulla and Walter and now reported directly to Jorge were wary of Cook. So was every other servant in the manor house, inside and out. They all mentioned her quick hand with a cleaver.

But without Cook’s backing, she would get nowhere.

She wasn’t Ulla, mowing down opposition like a newly sharpened and honed scythe while enjoying the full backing of the daimyo of DelFino. Susan had said that the manor house servants had learned from Harry and Saul how important the improvements were. If Charlton’s estates weren’t brought up to DelFino standards, then the estates would be given to someone else in the family and the servants wouldn’t fare well with the new lord and his lady. Whoever got the estates would punitively sack the lot of them. Yet Ulla had still had difficulties enforcing her will.

Ulla wasn’t on Cook’s good side. She had managed to accomplish an amazing amount of work, leaving detailed lists addressing the even more monumental challenges that remained. What could Ulla have achieved if Cook supported her?

Iolanthe glanced at the tarnished clock on the wall, ticking away the minutes of several lifetimes of work needing to be done. Based on the afternoon sun streaming in, the clock was only off by an hour or so. Cook had outdone herself, providing a wedding feast for the entire village on an evening’s notice. Her feast didn’t approach the gourmet standards of Orlov. It wasn’t in the same solar system as the astounding spread Sakamoto had put on for their open house. Yet Cook had, with her tiny staff and limited resources, managed to feed over one hundred people as much as they wanted and still have some food left over for supper tonight.

Cook would be exhausted and probably in a bad temper. What were her kitchens like? Cramped, dingy, and poorly equipped had to be the answer, based on how the rest of Charlton’s home looked. Empty of provisions too, with larder, pantry, and cupboards stripped bare. There was her approach.

Iolanthe smiled at the clock. Cook would be resting from her labors. Should she ask Constance to go with her? No. That would mean climbing and then descending two flights of stairs. More critically, if she enlisted Constance — or anyone else — she sent the message that _she_ wasn’t in charge.

It was time to beard the lioness in her den. Iolanthe got to her feet, picked up her cane, and limped through the manor house to the kitchens.

* * *

They were nearing another waystation, a chance to rinse and refill all the waterskins and pick up more depressing mil-rats and mail a postcard home. Days had passed since the pickpocket had frightened Lannie. Fen kept fretting over what had happened to her in Barsoom at the hands of DelFino. She’d retreated into her shell, saying as little as possible and flinching at every loud noise.

Her feet were healing up nicely and the risk of blood poisoning had passed. That was an answered prayer. He would have to buy her boots soon. The long legs of her coverall were shredding from being used as makeshift foot covers and would soon have to be cut off and then it was boots or barefoot. He glanced at the rough, filthy gravel underfoot. Going barefoot on this road surface would rip her feet back to shreds. Lannie went barefoot often but she didn’t have the leathery calloused soles of someone who never wore shoes.

But despite her feet healing, Lannie herself wasn’t happy. They had traveled together for almost two weeks and he thought he was getting to know her. Something was eating at her, even as she adjusted to the rigors of traveling the Pole-to-Pole corridor.

“We’ll be stopping soon.”

“Okay,” Lannie responded.

She rode Coppertail while he walked and they were making better time than he’d expected. The weather had decided to be cooperative, remaining dry with enough of a breeze to take the edge off the heat. Despite not speaking, Lannie was learning fast. She was getting quicker at setting up camp, breaking it down, and handling Coppertail so he didn’t have to do everything.

But she wouldn’t talk.

“I remember this waystation from my ride down the corridor from HighTower. It’s got a real post office and not just a mailbox.”

“Okay.”

“You said you could read and write. You got anyone you want to write so they know you’re alive and okay?”

Lannie stared over Coppertail’s ears at the red sandstone building on the horizon. A tiny settlement surrounded it, probably the reason it had a post office.

“I will think about it.”

“I got plenty of stamped postcards. You can use what you need.”

“Okay.”

Fen suppressed a sigh. At least he’d gotten her to say something other than ‘okay’. That pickpocket had terrified her worse than he’d thought.

* * *

A post office. Lannie’s mind raced. If Fen gave her a postcard, she could write to Charlton. If she was very neat with her printing, he’d be able to read it even if her letters were tiny to fit everything in. She had to tell him two things. She was alive. She suspected daddy was poisoning mama and why. The problem with a postcard was that if daddy saw it first, Charlton would never see it at all.

She suddenly realized that she didn’t know if Charlton or daddy had gone back to their rundown estates. On the other hand, where else could they go? She had publicly humiliated Rastislav and stolen the Pearls of Orlov. DelFino’s own daimyo, Zachery, wouldn’t be happy with either daddy or Charlton. So. They both had to have gone home; daddy to continue poisoning mama while Charlton tried (ineptly) to salvage what he could from the wreckage daddy had made of the place.

She wondered what happened to Dimitri and Iolanthe Orlov. The harsh fallout from the loss of the Pearls would destroy them, if Rastislav ever found out that Dimitri and Iolanthe helped Charlton with his plan to steal the Pearls and depose that awful geezer. Would Charlton tell Dimitri she was alive? Everyone would assume that if she was alive, she had the Pearls. Should she admit to stealing them? No, Lannie decided instantly. She’d be hounded forever, even if she scattered them along the Pole-to-Pole corridor for anyone to find. As long as she didn’t admit to stealing the Pearls, there was room for doubt. Not much, but some.

She also didn’t have to admit where she was or who she was with. The Martian post office handled mail all over the settled side so she could be anywhere.

Her mind was whirling in circles again. She had to concentrate. A postcard to Charlton that daddy might read first. But it was a postcard which meant anyone could read it. The postcard would end up in the village where the Postmaster (whoever _that_ was — Lannie wanted to groan in chagrin because Ulla would know) would tell everyone so Charlton would be promptly informed and the village would be buzzing with gossip. It didn’t even matter if daddy got the postcard first at the manor house. Whoever brought it to the house (Ulla would know who was assigned that duty) would tell all the servants what it said. They all had to know that she had fled the cathedral rather than marry Rastislav. One of them would tell Charlton and he would believe them rather than daddy.

But Charlton needed more than a postcard. He needed money to save the estates and help mama. How long would the effect of Mistress Vaughn’s poisonous tisanes last? Even if Charlton stopped mama from drinking them the moment he arrived home, the damage might be permanent. He needed money to take mama to the Great Hospital in Barsoom.

She had no idea if he married Iolanthe Orlov and might not find out until she reached Northernmost and could read the back issues of newspapers. Did they have newspapers or books in Northernmost? Lannie pushed that concern aside. Also, didn’t Charlton admit Iolanthe Orlov had no dowry? That was what daddy said, but it must be true because why else would anyone with better prospects marry her brother? Assuming Iolanthe Orlov did something that stupid and desperate. But she might, if she really was ugly, stupid, and penniless.

She kept circling back to money. Charlton needed money desperately. His entire ridiculous plot revolved around stealing the Pearls of Orlov in order to depose Rastislav to benefit his friend Dimitri and getting paid with some of the Pearls. Lannie pursed her lips at the approaching waystation. Maybe she was wrong, but her interpretation fit all the facts she knew.

Much as she disliked Charlton, her brother was trying — however badly — to save the estates and their peasants. He needed more than good wishes to succeed. He needed coin while she carried treasure beyond counting in the Pearls of Orlov. Lannie glanced over at Fen. He hated thieves. He had very little money. He wouldn’t give her a bent copper penny to mail stolen goods to the man who beat him up in the yard of a livery stable. And how much coin did Charlton need? She didn’t dare send all the Pearls because it would be wasted. Daddy might find out and steal them himself. And she would be left penniless.

Maybe she could mail a few pearls, assuming she could figure out how to pay for it. What should she send? Lannie ran through the inventory of the Pearls of Orlov. Rastislav had draped her with pearls; a tiara with streamers of pearls to adorn her hair, a collar with attached ropes of pearls hanging to her waist, bracelets galore, big fancy brooches, rings….

The earrings.

Rastislav had stolen mama’s opals when he removed them from her ears and pocketed them and slid the ear-wires through her lobes with those horrible, lewd suggestions. She’d never see mama’s opal earrings again. Daddy had stolen mama’s daisy earrings and given them to Mistress Vaughn. She was sure she was right because the more she thought about it, the more those enameled daisies looked just like mama’s earrings. Mama would never get those earrings back either unless Charlton retrieved them from Mistress Vaughn.

These earrings looked just like clusters of grapes. There were a lot of small pearls, some diamonds, and jade leaves. Charlton could break apart the earrings without any difficulty and sell a few pearls at a time in Telduv. That would make selling the pearls less noticeable. Orlov had to be looking for anyone selling large quantities of pearls. He wouldn’t make a wagonload of money but it would be enough to take care of mama while he figured out what to do next. And when she reached Northernmost, she could write and see if he needed more.

She glanced at Fen again. She’d planned to give him an earring to get her to Northernmost but this plan sounded better. Fen might —might! — accept a few pearls without turning her in for thievery but the earrings screamed theft. If she cut apart a bracelet, she could claim she’d found a few loose pearls. She didn’t have to admit how many loose pearls there were. She should lie like Charlton did; by omission and misdirection. Daddy would recommend adding as much of the truth as possible so it was easier to remember and be convincing and darn him, he was right.

The next question was how would she do it? Lannie sighed. She’d have to hope she got lucky at the post office and found money on the floor.

“Fen?”

“Yes?” Fen answered eagerly, like he’d been waiting for her to say something all day.

“I would like a postcard, please. I have a brother. I know he would like to know I’m all right.”

“Of course,” Fen said. “You got to let your family know. They must be worried sick about you.”

“I suppose they are,” Lannie said. She hoped they were. But she didn’t know.

She glanced over at him again. He might see who she was mailing the postcard to. “We’ll be faster at the waystation if I go in by myself while you take care of Coppertail and get water. I can drop off your postcard while I’m there.”

Fen looked dubious. “You’ll be alright?”

She laughed suddenly, making his face light up. “I think I’m in less danger in the post office than Coppertail would be if you left him tied up alone.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Fen growled. Coppertail regularly garnered admiring comments and while he hadn’t seen horse thieves yet, he had been told at the livery stable to be wary during the trip home just like the Hands of Krangland had told him to be wary during the trek to Barsoom. Like slavers, horse thieves kept a low profile until it was too late.

* * *

Lannie stood off to one side inside the dim post office, watching how things were done. She wrote letters all the time and received them too, but a servant had always ferried them to the post office, just like someone else provided paper, envelopes, pens, stamps, and anything else she wanted. Where was Ulla when she needed her?

This seemed like a small operation. The other customer left. No one was inside but her and the bored young woman behind the counter. The postal clerk was busily buffing her fingernails and her rings flashed with the movements of her hands. Her hair was immaculately styled to the point of fussiness and her uniform was pressed crisp, each button shining with polish. Her earrings were shiny brass balls to match her uniform buttons.

This post office looked like it catered to travelers, with boxes in an array of sizes, plain paper, envelopes, and such on shelves behind the clerk where they couldn’t be stolen. The pens were chained to the countertops, next to their embedded inkwells. The floor was swept clean and no one had thoughtfully dropped loose change so Lannie could buy a small box.

She stood at the customer counter, carefully filling out the postcard for Charlton with one of the chained pens (Fen’s was already in the mailbox; he wrote that he was making good time and expected to be home in a few months) and dropped it in after Fen’s.

How much time did she have? Fen would expect her to return quickly so they could be on the road again, ending in another night spent sleeping on the ground and then more endless weary days of trudging northwards.

Lannie studied the postal clerk again, holding her hand up to admire her rings. She was proud of her appearance and prouder of her rings, that was plain enough. She wore one on almost every finger.

Rings. Where was one of those darn pearl rings? She moved to the darkest corner and patted herself down quickly, hastily inspecting pockets without dumping the Pearls of Orlov onto the floor, while thinking madly of how the conversation could go. When she thought she was ready, she headed to the counter.

“Hi,” Lannie said to the postal clerk. “I like your rings.”

“Thanks. What do you want?”

“I would like to trade a ring for a little box and some paper and the postage to mail the little box,” Lannie said carefully. Daddy would be so proud. She’d spent a few minutes thinking over what to say and then rehearsed her lines so she didn’t giggle madly or start sobbing.

“I can’t do that,” the clerk said. “Against postal regulations.”

“I don’t have any money but I do have a pearl ring.”

“You’re gonna try and tell me it’s real pearls?” The clerk’s eyebrows were up against her bangs.

Lannie let herself giggle. “Look at me. You think I got real pearls?”

The postal clerk laughed. “No.” She stopped laughing and frowned. “The post office doesn’t accept cheap jewelry. You have to pay with money.”

“See, that’s my problem,” Lannie said earnestly. “I don’t have any money. Yet. But I can sell _you_ my ring in exchange for enough coin to buy a little box, some paper, and pay for the stamps. Your rings are very pretty but you don’t have one with pearls, not even fake pearls, like this ring.”

Lannie held out a ring, turning it so it caught the light. The row of four pearls glowed like moonlight on new snow. The gold band shone too, a hoop of sunshine.

“Ooooh.” The postal clerk leaned in for a better look. “That is gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it beautiful? I really have to send a package to my brother and like I said, I don’t have any money. Yet.”

She waved the ring around, watching how the postal clerk’s eyes never left the ring. “I think this might fit you. You’ve got a bare finger needing a ring.”

“I can’t sell you mailing supplies in exchange for a ring.”

“I know. But you could buy my ring and then I could buy my little box.”

Lannie watched the clerk’s face carefully. Like virtually everyone else who saw the Pearls of Orlov, she was entranced. Time to seal the deal. Daddy would applaud. “But if you don’t want it, that’s okay. Maybe I can try at the next town at the pawnshop.” She tucked the ring back into her top pocket and made a move towards the door.

“No. Wait.”

“Yes?”

“Let me see it again.”

“Okay.” She handed the ring to the postal clerk and it tugged at her heart, seeing the beautiful pearls in someone else’s hands. Lannie firmly squashed the pangs.

The clerk turned the ring over and over in her hands and then slid it onto her empty forefinger. The pearls glowed against her drab olive skin like they were lit from within, making her other rings look like the cheap glass imitations they were. She never removed her eyes from the ring and Lannie might as well have vanished.

“This is a gorgeous ring. You could get serious money for it from a jeweler,” the clerk said, longing and duty warring in her voice.

“I know.” Lannie sighed theatrically. “But I’m here right now and I need to mail something to my brother and there aren’t any pawnshops or jewelers nearby. I’ll take the ring back please.”

“I’ll buy it.” The clerk reached down into a pocket and fished out some change, putting it on the countertop. “All I have.” The pile of coins was tiny and all low denominations.

They were still more than what Lannie needed to buy a little box and pay for postage. A thought struck her, one that she wouldn’t have considered before running away. “This is all your money? I can’t take all your money because how will you eat and pay your bills? I just need enough to buy a little box and some paper and enough stamps.”

“I’ll be fine,” the postal clerk said, holding her hand to admire the glowing pearls. “I can eat mil-rats all week.”

“Don’t eat the raisin kind,” Lannie said. “They taste like they’ve been flavored with mold.”

“This is true. This box the right size?”

“Yes, thank you,” Lannie said and took the coins, the box, and the paper. “I’ll be right back.”

She hastily printed a note to Charlton and after several moments of hesitation, wrapped the earrings in it and stuffed them into the box, sealing it shut with the post office’s gummed tape and string, then addressed the box and went back to the counter.

The clerk looked at the address and the spell broke.

“Charlton DelFino? _DelFino_? Your brother is a rich risto DelFino and you’re walking around in a raggedy coverall that is ten sizes too big and you expect me to believe this tripe?” she asked indignantly.

“No,” Lannie said with the sincerity granted by perfect truthfulness. “Charlton’s not rich. He’s really poor and so am I and we have the DelFino last name because we’re the children of a lying, cheating bastard who lied to our mother.”

“Making you and your brother bastards?”

“Yes, my brother is a bastard. And I guess I am too, even though I don’t like to admit it,” Lannie said. “You know how mean people can be.”

The clerk made a face. “Isn’t that the truth. Damn DelFinos. You keep the change.” She leaned over the counter to study Lannie’s feet, wrapped in the ragged remains of the too-long legs of her coverall. “You need it more than I do to buy some boots.”

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” Lannie replied and left the post office with a happier heart. If the postal clerk mailed the package instead of stealing it, her brother would get two very nice surprises. She was alive and he had some money.

Best of all, even if he told Dimitri Orlov she had the Pearls, they’d never know where she was nor could they guess where she was headed.

* * *

She found Fen by the watering troughs, rinsing and refilling the last of his waterskins.

“I was starting to worry about you,” he said. “Mailing postcards took some time.”

Lannie smiled at him. “I thought carefully about what I wanted to say. There’s not a lot of room.” On impulse, she flung her arms around Fen and hugged him tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered, gazing up into his brown eyes. “My brother will know I’m alive.”

“Sure,” Fen said, his mind empty of rational thought. Sensation flooded over him. Lannie was smiling up at him. She had her arms around him. She felt wonderful and he felt wonderful and he’d made her very happy and he didn’t want this moment to end and it wouldn’t have except Coppertail whickered, stamped a hoof, and flicked him with his tail, jolting him back to dreary reality.

“Any time you need a postcard.”

Fen was having trouble focusing. She hugged him. He knew how long Lannie’s hair was, the beautiful curve of her calves, the feel of her arms around him when they were riding and now he knew how it felt to have her oddly lumpy body pressed up against his chest.

“Okay.”

As they left the waystation, Lannie mounted on Coppertail again, she thought about what to do next. If she wanted Fen to get her to Darnay, she didn’t have to do anything. But if she wanted Fen to get her all the way to Northernmost, she had to pay him somehow and that meant revealing a tiny portion of the Pearls of Orlov. She would cut a bracelet apart but she had to do it when he wasn’t watching. The Pearls were strung with knots between them so she didn’t have to worry about the entire strand coming apart and betraying her. She could take only what she needed. How many pearls would Fen want to take her to Northernmost? For that trip, she’d have to have boots at a minimum and a coat for when they got closer to the North pole and it got colder and eventually train tickets for both of them. And Coppertail too because Fen wouldn’t leave his horse behind anymore than he would leave her behind.

He wouldn’t leave her. Perhaps he could accept what she had done as long as he only knew the barest minimums.

* * *

“Where is my lady Iolanthe?” Charlton asked as he stripped off his sweaty shirt.

He’d returned to the manor house to clean up after a long afternoon in the village. He was in a good mood. The granary, to his immense relief, was not a total loss. Paco had begun salvaging the harvest right away and shored up the walls and roof of the granary against rain. His good mood made him more tolerant of his new valet’s quirks. He’d never had a valet before, fussing over his appearance as if the valet was the one going out in front of a disapproving public. Terrence had fresh clothes ready and was being irritatingly insistent about a shave and a wash before dressing for dinner.

“She’s with my sweetheart, my lord,” Terrence replied.

“Who?”

“Cook, sir. You recall. I’m marrying her tomorrow!”

Charlton thought his heart would stop.

“Iolanthe is in the kitchens with _Cook_?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Oh Gods,” Charlton said and bolted, half-dressed, for the door. He took the stairs two at a time, tearing through the hallways and reached the swinging doors to the kitchen. For the first time in years, he didn’t hesitate or knock or in any way warn the lioness he was entering her den.

“Hurt my wife and I’ll kill you!” he screamed as he slammed through the swinging doors into the suspiciously quiet kitchen. Gods. She was already dead, a cleaver through her head.

“Charlton,” Iolanthe said with surprise, looking up from her seat by the broad work table. “Is something wrong?”

He skidded to a stop in front of her and snatched her up from her seat. “You’re alive!”

“Well, yes. Cook and I were discussing what her kitchens need and how best to tackle the repair list.”

“You were?” Charlton kissed her fiercely, desperately, like a man who was sure he’d rescued his true love from certain death.

Cook pointed a meaty finger at Charlton from the other side of the table. “And what else do you think I’d be doing with the new mistress of the house?” she snarled. She reached with her other hand for her ever-present cleaver, the carbon steel blade glowing dully and the handle polished smooth with use.

“If you hurt my wife, I will make you pay forever,” Charlton replied over Iolanthe’s head. He clutched her to him as though he’d never let her go.

“You are an idiot,” Cook spat back.

“I’m fine. Really, I am,” Iolanthe said mistily as she snuggled against his broad bare chest, shockingly exposed to the view of the gaping and giggling scullery maids surrounding them. Charlton did care, deeply, even if he didn’t say the words.

He did not let her go, pulling her against himself as he sat with her in his lap.

“Would you like some tea?” Iolanthe asked.

“Uh, sure,” Charlton said, adrenaline coursing through his veins while he struggled to regain control of himself. Cook hadn’t attempted to murder Iolanthe like she’d tried to kill Ulla all those weeks ago.

“No cookies for you,” Cook added.

“Oh, no, Cook,” Charlton replied automatically. “I don’t want to spoil my appetite for dinner.”

“See that you don’t.”

“Yes, Cook. You’re not going to harm Iolanthe?” Gods but he sounded like a moron.

“You are a daft fool if you think I would hurt Miss Iolanthe any more than I’d harm your sainted mother.”

“You were worried?” Iolanthe asked.

“I love you,” Charlton said. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.” He kissed her again more gently. “I was terrified that Cook….”

“That I would do what?” Cook demanded, interrupting him.

“Put a cleaver in my wife’s head like you tried to do to Ulla,” he snapped at her.

“That harpy wasn’t the lady of the manor and if she’d been nicer, she might have got somewhere with me,” Cook said stoutly.

“Yes, Cook,” Charlton agreed, since Cook was accurate, at least about Ulla not being the lady of the manor.

“Tea, sir?” one of the scullery maids approached, a cup of fresh mint tea in her hand. She was young and pretty, despite her work-reddened and chafed hands.

“Thank you, Mimi.”

“I appreciate you standing up for my Mimi with that cad, Master Walter,” Cook grunted.

“I wouldn’t do anything else,” Charlton said.

“Not like your dad, are you.”

“No, Cook. I’m trying very hard not be him.” Charlton took a sip of tea, followed by a hard look at the dessert plate on the table. “Iolanthe has a cookie.”

She giggled in his lap. “Just this once. We were discussing menu options too.”

“That’s right,” Cook said stoutly. “Cookies are for dessert.”

“We’ve had a very fruitful discussion, my dear,” Iolanthe said. “Cook has wonderful suggestions for how to make improvements.”

“I expect nothing less,” Charlton said in bemusement. “She is very capable. And, may I say, Cook, you outdid yourself for my wedding ceremony. Everyone was deeply impressed by your skills.” He paused. “I have to ask. Terrence insists that the two of you wish to marry. Is this true?”

“Course it is,” Cook said, frowning. She reached for her cleaver again.

“I want to be sure _you_ want this,” Charlton replied. Iolanthe could feel him begin to relax. “I’ll give you away to him tomorrow, if that’s alright with you. And you and Terrence can take the day off.”

Cook pursed her lips. “Thank you, my lord,” she said at last. “I’ll arrange a cold collation for the family’s meals tomorrow.”

“Very good, Cook,” Charlton said.

“I didn’t know you had a pelt. Put on a shirt,” Cook ordered. “You’re upsetting my girls.”

He didn’t move.

“I’ll be fine, my dear,” Iolanthe reassured him. “Cook and I have barely gotten started. We have to decide on who will replace the housekeeper.”

Charlton groaned. “Not another drunk, please.”

“Do I look like a fool?” Cook growled.

“No, Cook,” Charlton replied promptly, eyes on Cook’s ever-present cleaver.

* * *

“I was impressed how you came charging to my rescue,” Iolanthe said. She and Charlton were sitting on the veranda after dinner, enjoying the cool breezes of the evening. Jorge and Constance had left them to walk in the gardens, something they apparently now did every evening because, as Jorge said, Constance needed more contact with the real world and less with her imaginary one of embroidery floss and perfect blossoms.

He groaned.

“You didn’t think I made a fool of myself?”

“No. Your mother, Jorge, and Terrence form a party of three. Cook intimidates everyone else.”

“But not you.”

“I don’t believe she sees me as a danger,” Iolanthe said thoughtfully.

He burst out laughing. “She doesn’t know you yet. You’re becoming the most dangerous person I know.”

“You are being silly.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “No. You think before you act. You think about what the results will be. You’re not afraid to wait or to be underestimated. You are very clever.”

“You are very kind.” She stopped and stroked his hand, laying possessively on her thigh. “Did you mean it?”

“That you’re smart?”

“That you love me.”

Iolanthe waited for him to answer and when he didn’t, she waited some more while staring out at the star-lit gardens and suddenly the words poured out of their own accord.

“You said you thought you could, back in Barsoom when we returned from the justice of the peace and then you never said anything again and I thought that you found you couldn’t and I can’t bear it because I’m falling in love with you and it would break my heart if you tell me you can’t. I’m sorry.”

He leaned closer to her. “Don’t be.” He brushed his lips across her cheek. “Words are — hard for me. Words like that.”

He pulled away from her and stared out at the lawns stretching towards the weedy gardens where his mother and his uncle strolled in the dusky, dusty pearl-gray light of evening.

Iolanthe thought her heart would break. She shouldn’t have said anything. She should have kept her foolish mouth shut and waited and perhaps, in time, he would care. She gave herself a mental shake. Charlton did care. He’d raced into the lioness’s den to save her. He had done everything for her, except say the words she wanted, needed to hear and didn’t those actions speak louder than any words?

But she wanted the words too.

He leaned over again and ran a finger across her bare cheek. “Don’t cry.”

“I am not,” she protested and blinked her eyes clear of humiliating, stinging tears.

“Doesn’t look that way to me,” Charlton said. “I meant it. I love you. It’s just that words like that can be lies. My dad told mama all the time how much he loved her. Right up until the day we left for Barsoom and all along, he was cheating with Mistress Vaughn and trying to poison my mother. My dad said all kinds of things, wonderful things, and you never knew what was real and what wasn’t. What he meant and what was a performance to make you clap your hands and then be disappointed again. Words are cheap. Actions aren’t.”

“I think I understand,” Iolanthe said. “You don’t want to be him. Like Cook said, you are nothing like your father.”

“I will never be like him. I could have. I was failing. I screwed up a while back. He didn’t care because it proved I was a failure just like he’d always believed. But Paco and Hedda thought differently. I couldn’t disappoint them. Or the rest of my peasants.”

Charlton gazed into her eyes. “I don’t want to disappoint you. Or fail you. I can’t give you anything but myself and the poorest corner of DelFino and you deserve so much more.”

She giggled. “You have given me everything I’ve wanted. Except a kitten.” And a baby but that would come in time, or not.

He grinned widely. “I’ll ask around tomorrow. There’s always a litter so you’ll be able to pick the kitten you like best.” He kissed her again, that light fluttery touch reminiscent of silver-winged moths dancing above cereus blossoms that promised so much more, later, when they were private. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me and I love you, Iolanthe Orlov DelFino. My beautiful, smart, capable wife.”

She sighed with relief and joy.

“You mean everything to me.”


	38. You know I don’t turn my back on merchandise.

The man on the bed groaned with satisfaction, the sound lost in the noise of the train roaring towards Westernmost and the padding in a first-class compartment. She could hear him. No one else could.

“You take such good care of me. No one else is like you,” he said as tensions drained away. “I can’t let go with anyone else.”

“You flatter me,” Mrs. Pondicherry purred as she released him from his velvety restraints.

“Always.” He yawned hugely. “Before I must leave you, my dear, we’ll have to discuss business.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Pondicherry said. “Wine?”

“Please.”

“Are my debts paid?”

“In full, my dear. In full. Nelly plus her baggage took care of the last of your red ink. She had an entire pouch full of excellent quality fake pearls. Did you know that? There was some other jewelry as well, real but mediocre. Those fake pearls put you over the top.”

“I am not surprised they were fake,” Mrs. Pondicherry said. She smiled warmly at her companion, very easy to do. Dressed, he faded into the wallpaper wherever he went. He had an average face and was of average height and he cultivated sedate anonymity for business reasons. Undressed, he was in superb shape since his business required physical strength, quick reflexes and a taste for brutal violence. His body’s scars told a story about his extensive travels and his subsequent rise up from the dregs of Mars.

“Those ropes of pearls the daimyo of Orlov gave me —”

“— gave you or you took?”

“Took, naturally. I earned them. My jeweler in Barsoom said they were the finest quality fakes he’d ever seen, so I would expect that the pearls strewn over the garments worn by members of Orlov would be fake as well.”

She ran her fingernails across his chest, digging in just the way he liked. “Do you need some of those pearls for your own debt? I didn’t plan on keeping most of them.”

“No, I’m doing well. Hold them in reserve for our future.”

She nodded in agreement.

He sat up and sipped his wine and had a bite from the appetizer tray Mrs. Pondicherry had set by for afterwards.

“You surprised me when you handed over Nelly. You are usually very helpful to runaway housemaids.” He leaned over, abruptly pushing his hard, strong hands down on her body, pinning her to the bed. He was suddenly all business backed up by the promise of vicious brutality. Anyone seeing him now would wonder how he could fade into the background.

“I must know why.”

She met his flinty eyes without a cringe. “Because I do not trust that Nelly. She is disloyal. Worse, she is stupid enough to brag about it. She’ll knife you if you let her.”

“You know I don’t turn my back on merchandise. Details.”

“I met Nelly when traveling from Easternmost to Barsoom, along with her mistress, Miss Iolanthe, and the daimyo of Orlov. I don’t think she understood how much the daimyo’s valet told me about her.”

He untensed and released the pressure on her body, allowing her to breathe more easily.

“So?”

Mrs. Pondicherry settled herself comfortably, unconcerned about harm.

“It was so lucky we already had our meeting scheduled. I would have had to make arrangements to meet you in a hurry while keeping that Nelly fooled.”

“It was lucky.” He chuckled dryly. “Lucky for us.”

“I would never fault Nelly for escaping. I ran away myself as you know.” She twinkled adorably up at him. “It’s how we met. I could forgive her betrayal of Miss Iolanthe who always treated me as a human being and not as something less, Miss Iolanthe who was trying to rescue Nelly from that sottish Rastislav. Miss Iolanthe even went out of her way to warn _me_ to be cautious with the daimyo of Orlov. Can you imagine?”

He chuckled again. “She doesn’t know how dangerous you are.”

“True. I might forgive Nelly destroying Miss Iolanthe’s garments and stealing her mother’s jewelry, although I thought it was remarkably stupid. You know as well as I do that the Four Hundred never forgive insults and hunt down an offender to the ends of Mars.”

“You don’t seem concerned about Orlov tracking _you_ down because of the pearls you stole.”

She chuckled. “It was an enormous risk, but I’m not some ignorant housemaid and those pearls turned out to be fake. They were not the Pearls of Orlov we’ve all been told about endlessly. I think Rastislav is afraid I’ll tell everyone on Mars they’re fake when I’m not talking about what I trained him to enjoy.”

“A coward as well as a liar to his bankers. You haven’t convinced me yet.”

“I could even forgive Nelly for her cruelty about Miss Iolanthe’s lameness. You recall my sister?”

“Yes. I do not forget anything.”

Mrs. Pondicherry angrily sucked in her breath.

“But I could not forgive Nelly her shortsighted stupidity. She bragged to me, _bragged_ and in _public_ about how she lied and cheated and stole and she expected me to applaud her. She betrayed people who were trying to help her because it benefited her at that moment. I knew immediately she would betray me in a heartbeat and not just to save her own skin. That traitorous bint betrays like a tiger rips apart its prey and devours it while still alive. It’s her nature and that sly-boots won’t change.”

“Ah.”

Her companion relaxed fully and permitted himself to eat some of the steak tidbits, hot and bloody and well-peppered, just the way he liked them.

“I understand now. You were correct in your assessment.”

“Where is Nelly now?”

“Off the train and out in the steppes. My crew is breaking her in. She’ll be ready for Woo Plantation number seven within a few days.”

“You’ll want to warn the overseer that she will be trouble.”

He thought her suggestion over for a few moments. “I should. It’s good business.”

“I wonder if Nelly will understand why I gave her to you,” Mrs. Pondicherry mused. “That if she had been able to keep her stupid mouth shut, I would not have. I would never have known that she ripped apart Miss Iolanthe’s garments or stole her mother’s jewelry and I could have ignored the other issues. _If_ she had been discreet.”

“Not her,” her companion sneered. “She was screaming obscenities when I left against you and Miss Iolanthe. It’s your fault and not hers.”

“Your crew didn’t gag her?”

“Hadn’t got that far when I left. Mouths have their uses.”

“Well. She’ll learn to shut her mouth eventually or she’ll suffer even worse at Plantation #7,” Mrs. Pondicherry said. She shuddered and he draped a reassuring arm around her. “Dreadful place.”

“Think of it as a character-building experience for Nelly. We survived and here we are, in a first-class compartment on the train.” He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply.

He broke free at last with a sigh. “Time to go.” He stroked her face gently, falling into her eyes like he always did until the world reasserted itself.

“It was, as always, a pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Pondicherry,” her companion said as he got dressed and readied himself to leave her compartment and vanish.

“Likewise, Mr. Pondicherry,” Mrs. Pondicherry answered. “Likewise.”

* * *

The days flew by, a blur of hard work and constant reminders that Lannie was missing. Constance would start sobbing in the middle of whatever she was doing and have to be soothed. Charlton would pick up an object, freeze, and remember the last time Lannie held it. The servants, too, noticed her absence and commented. Even Cook had things to say, none of them complementary to Albion or to Charlton’s planning abilities. Peasants coming to the house told amusing stories about what Miss Lannie did and how sad they were about her loss, bringing fresh rounds of grief. Iolanthe could do nothing to ease their pain but listen attentively.

There were good things happening. The day after Cook married Terrence, both of them overjoyed to be wedded at last, a small medical team arrived from DelFino castle and took over the nursing of Mistress Vaughn’s arson victims. The next day after that, Walter’s grooms arrived with four horses rather than two.

Charlton picked his way through the note the senior groom handed him, cursing how Walter didn’t bother to write legibly and finally handed it over to Iolanthe to decipher.

“This is very generous,” she said after perusing the note. “You’ve got his pair of saddlehorses as long as you need them along with his grooms. The other two saddlehorses are loans from your cousin, Simeon. Walter says Simeon owed him a favor.”

“Huh,” Charlton said. “Walter never does anything that doesn’t benefit himself. I get along with Simeon alright but we’re not close.”

“Not quite true,” Jorge said, catching the end of the conversation. “I’ve gotten to know Walter well. He cares deeply about the wellbeing of DelFino. The extra horses will allow Paco and someone else to join us as we repair your estates.”

“I can’t bring myself to trust Walter,” Charlton said. “But I won’t turn down free horses.”

* * *

The family sat down to dinner, another day almost over when someone began pounding at the front door. Iolanthe had been able to settle the ancient butler in a cottage (his tiny pension was still in arrears) but she hadn’t yet decided on a replacement. In the meantime, the more ambitious of the two footmen was acting in Ruckers’ place. He bowed, left the dining room, and minutes later came sprinting back, Paco and the village Postmaster huffing and puffing behind him.

“My lord Charlton,” Paco burst out as soon as he entered the dining room. “The Postmaster has news!”

“Sir,” the Postmaster said, panting from his run from the village. “The weekly mail arrived from Telduv and I was sorting it and, and,” he stopped. “Here.”

He handed over a discolored, dirty-white postcard to Charlton who took it curiously and screamed aloud when he read the careful, tiny printing.

“It’s Lannie! She’s alive!” He fell back in his seat and Jorge snatched the postcard from his hands and held it so a trembling, ashen Constance could read it.

“My little girl,” Constance moaned as she read the card and slumped sobbing in her chair, clutching the postcard to her heart. It was proof Lannie was alive and proof again of how Albion poisoned her with Mistress Vaughn’s help.

“She figured it out,” Charlton gulped. “I don’t know how, but she figured out what dad was doing. She’s alive. Lannie is alive.” He gently retrieved the card from his mother’s shaking fingers and studied it. “But we don’t know where she is or when she wrote this.”

“Yes we do,” Iolanthe announced at the same time as Jorge and the Postmaster.

“How?” Charlton and Constance spoke together.

The Postmaster and Jorge deferred to Iolanthe.

“The postmark. It gives the date and location when the postcard was mailed. Lannie mailed it herself.”

“But anyone could have —”

The Postmaster interrupted Charlton. “No, my lord. Miss Lannie also mailed a package for you. Someone might have dropped a stamped postcard in a mailbox but they wouldn’t have paid to mail a package to DelFino.”

He held out the small box, Lannie’s neat block printing readily visible.

“Identical postmark, my lord. Miss Lannie was at a waystation post office just outside of Merreth. That’s a tiny village on the Pole-To-Pole corridor road to Northernmost. Near 200 klicks north of Barsoom. I looked it up as soon as I realized it was from Miss Lannie. I knew you would want to know.”

“Thank you,” Charlton replied numbly. He held out his hand for the package, giving the postcard back to his mother to stare at and read over and over. She ran her shaking fingers over Lannie’s handwriting as though trying to stroke her daughter’s face through the card.

“Lannie is alive,” he said again. “Alive.”

“She must have had help getting to Merreth,” Jorge said. “That’s too far to walk on her own.”

Iolanthe agreed and then everyone fell silent (other than Constance’s weeping) as Charlton took a table knife and carefully slit open the box. He pulled out a layer of packing paper and stared into the box, falling into a dumbfounded silence. He even more carefully set the box down, closing its flaps and unfolded the paper, reading Lannie’s careful block printing. She knew he had trouble reading and she, unlike Walter, cared enough to make sure he could read her note.

“What is it?” Constance wailed. “My little girl! Is she being sent to us in _pieces_?”

“No, no, mama,” Charlton hastened to reassure her. “Nothing like that. I, I —” He looked around the dining room, then dismissed the footmen and the Postmaster. Paco made a move to leave, but Charlton said “Stay. No. Go. Wait outside.”

“Jorge,” Charlton turned to his uncle. “Take my mother and wait on the veranda with Paco. Please, no questions. Not now. Lannie is safe or she was when she mailed the package.”

“What happened to my Yilanda?” Constance begged.

“A few minutes more, mama. Go with Uncle Jorge, please.”

“And me?” Iolanthe made a move to leave.

“You stay.”

Charlton waited, openly tense until everyone else was gone and the door locked and the large, wide windows opening onto the veranda and the lawn were closed. Iolanthe thought he might pull the drapes closed, but he stopped at that point.

He came to sit down besides her again and she asked, “What did Lannie write?”

Charlton reopened the box and pulled out one earring and then the other. He dangled them in front of her. Clusters of pearls, like grapes, gleamed in the last of the day’s light. The tiny diamonds flashed and the carved jade leaves shone softly.

“She still has the Pearls,” Iolanthe whispered.

“At least some of them,” Charlton said. “Whoever she’s with doesn’t know because if they did, she’d be dead.”

“Yes,” Iolanthe said absently, her attention captured by the luminous earrings. The last time she’d seen them, the sot was sliding their wires through Lannie’s earlobes. “The Pearls cast a spell, making most people who see them willing to do almost anything to possess them. It’s the rare person who doesn’t fall under their spell. What do you want to do?”

“You have to decide, Iolanthe.” Charlton gave the earrings a gentle shake, letting the pearls rattle against each other with the tiniest of clicks. “Lannie mailed me the Pearls to sell but really, they’re your dowry. Or do you want to return them to Orlov?”

“ _I_ have to decide?”

“You are Orlov. You know what the Pearls mean to your family. And your serfs.”

Iolanthe lurched to her feet with fury. “I am _not_ Orlov!” she screamed. “Did our wedding mean nothing to you? Either one? I am DelFino now! I married you and that makes me DelFino!” She wailed in agony and then slumped into her chair, fighting angry, betrayed tears. Charlton didn’t mean anything he had said. He’d fed her cheap, empty words like his father and she had believed him. DelFino did not accept her. He did not accept her.

Charlton was kneeling at her feet in an instant, grabbing her hands in his so she couldn’t slap him away. The earrings lay discarded on the table.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I had to be sure. I’ve heard too much about the Pearls of Orlov and what they do to anyone who sees them. I saw what they did to Lannie, Walter, my dad and what they did to you just now. Don’t cry, please. Iolanthe, I love you and I need your thoughts on what to do with your dowry and I can’t betray my sister again.”

“You thought I would, I would…” her voice trailed away at his expression.

“The Pearls cast a spell. You said so yourself. So did Dimitri. Look at them.” He picked up the earrings again and rays of light danced around them in a nimbus of glamour. “I’m holding enough money in my hand to rebuild every road in my corner of DelFino. But they’re yours. They’re your dowry.”

He suddenly looked exhausted. “I can’t betray Lannie again. If Dimitri knows Lannie has the Pearls, he’ll tell the sot and your father. He’ll send that private detective out to Merreth. It’s his duty to his demesne, just like its my duty to take care of my people and DelFino.”

“You’re giving me a choice,” she said slowly, starting to understand what was tearing him apart. Albion had betrayed Charlton, Constance, Lannie and every person on his estates. Zachery had agreed to Albion’s plans despite knowing what it would do to Lannie. Walter, sent to help Charlton, lied about what they’d accomplished at the estates and had his own plans for Lannie. Charlton couldn’t be sure of anyone’s loyalty, not with the repeated betrayals he’d experienced, yet he wouldn’t betray his own people. Or her.

“You aren’t just taking the Pearls to use as you please.”

“I won’t do that.”

She breathed in deeply, fighting for calm, and remembered watching Charlton’s face in the cathedral when he beheld the Pearls of Orlov for the first time. Rastislav had brought the vast majority of the Pearls with him to Barsoom and draping them over Lannie gave the Pearls plenty of time to work their magic, bewitching everyone who saw them. Walter had been mesmerized; Albion enthralled. Even Lannie, terrified and on the verge of panic, had edged closer to the sot to see the Pearls and she had not fled when he adorned her with them, running his hands possessively across her body. They had lured her, unwilling though she was, into their dazzling snare.

But not Charlton.

He had seen money to rescue his mother, his sister, and his peasants. She had seen the Pearls herself many times and each time, despite knowing what they were and how they had distorted and damaged Orlov, they drew her, enchanted her, made her desire them. Very few people, seeing the Pearls in their full gloriousness, remained untouched like Charlton had. Like he was now. Giving her some say in what he did next rather than snatching the earrings and abandoning everyone on his estates like his father would have done. Because he trusted her and valued her more than the wealth of the Pearls of Orlov.

What did she want to do with the dowry Lannie sent her, the dowry that Orlov should have given her? Keep this tiny portion of the Pearls safe inside a locked jewelry box and wear them on special occasions?

Iolanthe breathed slowly, in and out, just as the acupuncturist in Nourz recommended. Charlton watched her face intently, his arms around her, but he let her think.

When she was ready, Iolanthe said, “I am DelFino. I want you break up the earrings, then go to Telduv and sell them a pearl or two at a time, so it doesn’t attract notice. Orlov’s own jeweler will be looking for pearl sales. I know papa will have him check. Buy your mother daisy earrings and rethatch all the cottages in the village. And a new roof for the manor house. And a tiny pension for Ruckers. And that housekeeper as soon as Cook and I find a replacement. And fix the road to Telduv. Talk to Jorge and Paco. I know you have a list. I have a long list for the manor house. We need to prioritize.”

He grinned suddenly. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me.” His face went sober. “What should we tell Dimitri? We know where Lannie was but she’s probably not in Merreth anymore.” He shuddered as he caught his breath. “I could hire someone to go to Merreth and look for her but the money would save more people here. I have to tell myself that whoever she’s with is helping her head north, maybe to Ranaglia.”

“I think Dimitri should know that she’s in Merreth, but he doesn’t need to know that she sent us the earrings.” Iolanthe stopped. “Ulla. We have to tell Ulla. She’s eating herself up inside because she’s convinced she failed Lannie.”

“Agreed. She doesn’t need to know about the Pearls.”

“Ulla never saw them but I doubt they would affect her like they do most people,” Iolanthe said in a considering tone of voice. “She’s too practical and sensible. She’d see money, like you do.”

He chuckled dryly. “No one’s ever called me practical or sensible before.”

“They haven’t been paying attention. Although,” — she smiled at him — “your planning skills could use work.”

“Yeah. We don’t tell Ulla about the Pearls.” He frowned. “I have to explain them to mama, Jorge, and Paco, just enough so there are no questions. Everyone else can be told Orlov gave you a dowry after all. They don’t need to know more.”

“Agreed. Shondra. I’ll write to her that Lannie’s safe.”

Charlton grimaced. “Zachery and Walter. He is the daimyo and Lannie is still DelFino even though Zachery was willing to sacrifice her for the demesne. Walter likes Lannie, he did try to save her, and he’d want to know.”

* * *

Charlton opened a window and called out to his mother, his uncle, and his village headman pacing on the veranda and they rushed back inside.

“My little girl,” Constance pleaded. “Please, is she all right?”

“Yes, mama. She mailed me some earrings to sell.” Charlton held up the pearl clusters for everyone to see. “We won’t talk about this outside this room.”

“Ooooh,” Constance breathed out, entranced by the earrings. She brushed her fingers across them as they dangled from Charlton’s hands. “Must we sell them? They’re so beautiful.”

“Yes, mama, we must. Every cottage in the village needs to be rethatched like the manor house needs a new roof.”

“Does snow look like that?” Paco asked wonderingly. “I’ve heard of snow and how lovely it is.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the Pearls and it was obvious that the only reason he wasn’t reaching for the dangling earrings like Constance was because he recalled he was in the presence of the lord of the estate.

Jorge took his time studying the earrings. He kept his distance, Iolanthe noticed, as though he was afraid of them. He kept glancing uneasily at Constance and Paco; both of them bewitched even though mere moments before their main concern had been Lannie.

“You’ll have to be careful selling these,” Jorge said. “You’ll want the best price you can get for the repairs you need to make. We should talk later, you, me, and Iolanthe, I think.” His eyes sought out the earrings and he pulled away, even more openly uneasy over the effect jewelry was having on him.

“Yes, uncle Jorge,” Charlton said. “We should.”

* * *

Once plans had been made, Iolanthe began writing very careful letters; to Dimitri, Ulla, Shondra, Zachery, and when Charlton gave his grudging approval, one to Walter. Albion did not deserve a letter about the whereabouts of his daughter. In the morning, the Postmaster arranged for a special trip to Telduv so the letters would not have to wait another week. Not because of Dimitri Orlov’s needs, but because of Ulla and Shondra.

* * *

Ulla slumped in her reading chair in her bedchamber, miserable after another endless, dreary day looking for Lannie and finding nothing. The only saving grace was that when the morgue at the Great Hospital summoned her to confirm the identity of a young woman’s body, it had not been Lannie’s.

Increasing her weariness was learning — a fresh set of lessons every day — how difficult life could be for many of the citizens of Barsoom. Didn’t any of those people matter? They wanted to live their lives in some peace, enjoy some small pleasures, and make a better life for their families. Yet so much of how Barsoom was run didn’t make it easier. The Four Hundred, naturally enough, had nothing to do with managing Barsoom to improve it. That was what the local government was for. Even so, it felt wrong. The peasants of DelFino had better lives than many of the people she now spoke to daily. But that was DelFino. After hearing Shondra’s story, Ulla had begun carefully researching Sakamoto. Back-alley whores in Barsoom had better lives than Sakamoto peasants. They had some freedom and Sakamoto’s unfortunate serfs had none.

Since her escape, Shondra gained some freedom; the freedom to starve with her daughters. With each letter detailing her fruitless searches for Lannie, Ulla included some money for Shondra. It was something positive she could do to help at least one person.

Ulla groaned again. She was failing but she couldn’t stop her search. It felt like the moment she stopped, Lannie was doomed.

She knew she didn’t have much time to recuperate. Aunt Ottilie insisted on her meeting another well-connected, charming young man for dinner, this time at Chez Gramscee. Ottilie wasn’t explaining her motives for continuing the series of blind dates when Silas Avongale and his family were becoming increasingly enthusiastic. Ulla dutifully complied, because it kept her in Barsoom.

A knock at the door. Maybe this evening’s dinner-date was cancelling and she could stay home and pore over her comprehensive maps of Barsoom’s streets and alleys looking for another place Lannie might have fled to from the cathedral. On the other hand, the dinner was taking place at Chez Gramscee and that might, possibly, maybe, perhaps mean that Yair Buruk would be waiting tables and she could tell him how her searches went. He was more likely to listen and care than whoever Ottilie had produced from her matchmaking forays. She hadn’t seen him since the day at Burroughs Park. No surprise. Yair had an entirely different path in life than she did. At this rate, he was more likely to own a hotel than she was likely to find Lannie. She angrily pushed the notion away to pay better attention to the maid.

Natha held out a silver tray with a letter resting on it. “This afternoon’s mail delivery, Miss Ulla,” she said handing over the tray.

Ulla took the letter from Iolanthe and slit it open. Iolanthe could be counted on to write amusing letters about how she was slowly rebuilding Charlton’s estates. She screamed with joy after the first sentence.

“Lannie is alive! Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.”

* * *

Dimitri slit open the letter from Iolanthe, read it and then read it again. Where the hellation was Merreth? And how had Lannie gotten there? He looked around the library. The sot was staring off into space as though he was hearing voices which he probably was. Albion had his nose stuck in another book and was mumbling what he read over and over. He was probably preparing his next boring recitation of some play where he performed all the roles including damsels needing rescue and barking dogs.

Matsuda opened the library door, admitting the hired investigator into the room.

“Mr. John RedHawk,” Matsuda intoned.

“Perfect timing,” Dimitri snarled. “Orlov has been paying you huge sums of money and for what? To find Miss Yilanda and here I have a letter informing me that she wrote a postcard to her brother and the postmark said she was in Merreth! How come you didn’t know Yilanda was in Merreth?”

“Is your source sure?” Redhawk asked while his mind raced. Merreth was a rundown village almost 200 klicks to the north on the Pole-To-Pole corridor road and a young lady of the Four Hundred wouldn’t know it existed. Yilanda couldn’t have gotten that far on her own on foot in the time that had passed. If she’d been on horseback or in a wagon, she’d have gotten much farther. And how long ago was that postcard mailed?

“Yes, you moron!” Dimitri shouted, happy to have finally found a target for his frustration and rage. “My sister wrote me. Her husband, Charlton, is Yilanda’s brother. He recognized Yilanda’s handwriting as did her mother!”

Albion seized his cue. He dropped the book loudly, flung himself to his knees on the carpet, raised his hands to the ceiling and wailed, “my little girl is alive. Praise the gods, my little girl is alive and not dead in some ditch. My Yilanda is alive, Rastislav, did you hear? My daughter is alive.”

Rastislav stood and slapped his hands onto his chest although not with the verve that Albion could display. “Yilanda, my love. I will save you.”

“My lord Dimitri,” RedHawk said calmly, ignoring the histrionics. “Did your sister mention the date on the postmark? That will narrow down how Yilanda could have gotten to Merreth.”

Dimitri told him and RedHawk said, “I’ll send an investigator out at once.”

“You’ll go yourself,” Dimitri snapped back. “I want to see Orlov’s money being spent wisely for a change.”

“Yes, sir, my lord,” RedHawk replied. “In that case, I’ll cancel my trip out to Bester. Your runaway housemaid, Nelly, was last seen by railway staff shortly after the train left Bester. She was not seen after the train left Gloddin. We are assuming that although Nelly purchased a through ticket to Westernmost, she realized she needed to disappear and thus left the train early.”

“You can do that?” Rastislav asked, momentarily sidetracked from finding Lannie and the Pearls of Orlov by the realization that Nelly might be within his grasp and he could enjoy some much-needed revenge.

“Yes, my lord Orlov,” RedHawk said. “The railway doesn’t care if you depart the train early. That ticket was paid for. Getting on without paying is another matter entirely.”

“I must go to Merreth,” Albion cried. “My Yilanda must be terrified.” She might still have the Pearls of Orlov in her possession, he thought, and I can grab them for myself. He remembered vividly their lustrous beauty outshining everything else he had ever seen.

“If you leave this house,” Dimitri said coldly, correctly interpreting the pearly gleam in Albion’s eyes, “I will inform Goryonov that you are no longer a guest of Orlov.” That damned ham would steal the Pearls, assuming Lannie still had them, abandon her, and vanish.

“Yilanda will be waiting for me,” Rastislav said. “My lost bride!” With the Pearls of Orlov, he prayed. To his horror, Madame Orlov’s wraith-like form appeared in front of him and screamed her agreement before vanishing again. The tantalus of red wine in the corner of the room beckoned strongly, promising a few moments of oblivion.

John RedHawk noted the tenseness of the three men and the air of unreality. Even more interesting, Matsuda was concerned and tense and as the butler, he should be indifferent to the travails of a missing young lady who was not Orlov.

“Do you have information that might explain why Miss Yilanda stopped in Merreth to write to her brother?” RedHawk asked. “A connection of some sort?”

“We have told you everything,” Dimitri lied stoutly. Iolanthe had written nothing about the Pearls of Orlov and he wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe the Pearls were lost for good because wouldn’t Iolanthe tell him if Lannie had written something on the subject?

“Nothing matters to us but my darling Yilanda’s safety,” Rastislav stated. “You have all the facts.” Had that stupid girl mailed the Pearls to that thug brother of hers and they were lost for good?

“I have hidden nothing, nothing! I must have my daughter rescued,” Albion declaimed. It would be just like Charlton to refuse to share the Pearls, assuming Lannie was stupid enough to send such a treasure through the postal system where some low-level postal clerk could steal them.

RedHawk waited a moment to see if Matsuda would chime in with his own claim of honest and full disclosure but the butler said nothing verbal. His tense posture said he was just as anxious that Miss Yilanda be found and like the rest of Orlov, he was unwilling to admit why.

“Very good, my lord,” RedHawk said. “I shall arrange to visit Merreth at once. Ah. I almost forgot.”

Actually, he hadn’t. It was becoming very apparent that keeping the Orlovs off balance was the only way to ferret out the truth they so feared, the truth that was hindering his investigation. His boss, Mr. Parminder, didn’t care about the truth as long as the client paid, but he did.

“Your housemaid, Nelly, was last seen in the club car with a well-known adventuress. She often goes by the name of Mrs. Pondicherry.”

He watched Dimitri, Rastislav, Albion, and Matsuda closely and was rewarded.

Rastislav gasped openly, clenched his fists, and his face became a mask of fury, over and above the rage he routinely demonstrated when talking about Nelly.

Dimitri’s face was more complex and he kept glancing over at his daimyo as if he was afraid of what Rastislav would say.

Albion looked honestly blank, and wonder of wonders, he didn’t make up a quick lie about Mrs. Pondicherry to remain part of the conversation.

Matsuda, the butler, was the most interesting. He visibly paled. Now what did the long-time butler of the Orlov townhouse have to do with a known adventuress? Matsuda, RedHawk had discovered, rarely left the Orlov townhouse and when he traveled, it was always to the demesne.

Dimitri recovered first. “By your leave, my lord Rastislav. I recommend we dismiss RedHawk for the moment while we determine where he should go next.”

“Agreed, nephew,” Rastislav said as the blood pounded in his ears.

That Mrs. Pondicherry would tell RedHawk or his agent a grossly exaggerated version of what she had done to him and how much he had enjoyed it. Worse, she probably already knew the pearls she stole, the pearls he had claimed were the true Pearls of Orlov, were fake. Mrs. Pondicherry would spread the news far and wide and everyone would listen. Even if they retrieved the true Pearls from that faithless Yilanda, the damage would be done. Loans would be called in. Credit would be denied. Orlov’s finances hung by a thread because as immense a treasure as the Pearls of Orlov were, the mortgages they backed were larger. Madame Orlov’s wraith reappeared and he fell into a chair. It would not matter if he sired an army of sons with Yilanda if the demesne was as bankrupt and destitute as those filthy horse demesnes in the Ennaretee. His punishment would never end. Damn Yilanda for suggesting he bring the Pearls of Orlov to Barsoom for their wedding. This was her fault.

Albion had no idea who Mrs. Pondicherry was but it seemed she was important. He would eavesdrop carefully, at keyholes if he had to, and perhaps Mrs. Pondicherry would become the solution to his own problem of vanishing without being caught by Goryonov or his other creditors.

Matsuda remembered what the sot’s valet had told him about what the sot enjoyed in the private railcar with Mrs. Pondicherry. The sot regularly embarrassed the demesne, but publicity about his deviant, unmanly behavior would frost the cake. Master Dimitri and the other young scions of the family would be permanently tarred. And worse, Mrs. Pondicherry had stolen one of the false sets of Pearls. Bankruptcy loomed if anyone suspected the Pearls were fake.

“I will escort Mr. RedHawk to the morning room, my lord, to await your verdict,” Matsuda intoned.

Once RedHawk left, Dimitri took charge and said coldly, “Yilanda is more important. We must retrieve the Pearls.”

“Agreed, nephew,” Rastislav said weakly. Madame Orlov had been joined by his father and their shrieking over his failures filled his brain to overflowing. He wanted to pour wine down his throat until he choked but that meant putting himself into Madame Orlov’s grasp sooner rather than later.

“This is what we’ll do,” Dimitri began outlining a tentative plan while Rastislav shook and gasped like a trout pulled from the water and left to die in the open air.

Perhaps, if he and the demesne were very lucky, the damned sot would have a stroke on the spot. Then he could throw Albion out to the waiting Goryonov thugs and ride to Merreth and find Lannie and rescue the Pearls of Orlov and save his demesne. And maybe Lannie too. Charlton wanted his sister back but if Lannie had to die so the Pearls could be rescued, well, he would slash her throat himself. And if the sot didn’t die on his own, Orlov Castle had many high windows. That murder had the advantage of not weighing on his conscience like Lannie’s death would.

* * *

Walter opened Iolanthe’s letter wondering why Charlton’s wife was writing to him again. She’d already sent a thank-you note for the gentle riding horse Akins had yet to find and train for her. She had, according to Akins, already mailed him a note too, introducing herself and saying how eager she was to be able to ride like everyone else. It was a pleasant reminder that he, Walter, had given Charlton’s wife something that Charlton never would have considered possible. The best Charlton could do would be a mongrel kitten from a barn cat’s litter and really, who wanted one of those?

He read the letter, then read it again. Lannie was alive. Or at least she had been. No mention of the Pearls but he didn’t expect Iolanthe or Charlton to admit anything on that subject. Did Lannie still have the Pearls? Where in hellation was Merreth?

Walter glanced over at Naomi, visiting the DelFino townhouse again and doing her best to charm Ottilie while her family and their matchmaker watched intently. She was so, so beautiful and yes, as he had been told, she had been as bold and forward as any back-alley whore desperate for coin. She was equally experienced, just as he’d been told and the memory heated his groin making him look forward to another hot, fun night with Naomi. Even better, Naomi was as sweet-tempered as she was luscious and alluring. Saying otherwise was jealousy on his cousin and aunt’s parts, he concluded.

Marrying Naomi Khan was the right thing to do for DelFino and to his intense relief, it wouldn’t be the hardship that Ottilie swore it would be. Could his aunt be wrong? Walter touched the pocket over his heart, holding the pearl bracelet. He’d wait until after the wedding to give it to Naomi to be sure. And in the meantime, he wondered if he could disappear for a few days, take the train to Merreth and back, and rescue Lannie and the Pearls of Orlov.

Assuming she still had them. Assuming she was still in Merreth. Assuming she was still alive. Assuming Dimitri Orlov wasn’t already on the train heading to Merreth, because Iolanthe would have written her brother first with the news and Dimitri Orlov would do anything to retrieve the Pearls of Orlov and probably wouldn’t bother saving Lannie at all.

Sweet, pretty, virginal, naïve Lannie. Who would protect her? Walter heard his name being called. He dragged himself back to the conversation, but when he did, he caught a flash of something furious and ugly in Naomi’s beautiful eyes when she saw the letter from another woman in his hands.

* * *

Zachery didn’t bother with Iolanthe’s letter until the late evening. It was undoubtably a request for money for Charlton’s estates just as Iolanthe’s letter to his daimyah, while charming and polite, had been a blunt request for aid. Ulla’s report on tree plantations was far more important and surprisingly comprehensive and detailed with Equator zone specifics. Everything else done, he slit open Iolanthe’s letter. His eyes widened as he read it and then he set the letter aside to think.

So Yilanda was alive and in Merreth. He got up to check the map to confirm vague memories. Yes, Merreth, while a free-city (free-hamlet was more accurate) in the Pole-To-Pole corridor was not that far away from DelFino’s territory. Yilanda still had a long way to go before leaving DelFino behind. She had to be traveling — and on foot no less — to Ranaglia as he had originally suspected.

He sat back down behind his desk to consider what to do next. Ranaglia should be alerted, although Charlton had probably informed them. Still, it wouldn’t do any harm for him to contact them as well, since until she married, Yilanda remained DelFino. With his decision made, he smiled coldly. He would send a trusted servant to look for her. If Yilanda was alive, then she might still have the Pearls of Orlov. Wouldn’t that be a coup, one that guaranteed his reelection as daimyo at the Winter Solstice, if he announced to the gathering before the vote of his acquisition of the Pearls of DelFino.

* * *

Shondra opened the letter from Iolanthe, wondering what Charlton’s wife had to say. Ulla’s letters were uniformly sad, a litany of failure made tolerable only because Ulla always enclosed some money and she was a surprisingly amusing correspondent when she described her searches and dealings with the denizens of Barsoom looking for Lannie. Paper Ulla was far easier to live with than the real Ulla.

She was alive. Lannie was alive in Merreth, wherever that was. Shondra sagged with relief and then retreated back inside her hovel to comb out the dogs again. The money Ulla sent paid the accumulated overdue rent but the felt-maker paid for Amita’s medicine. She would rejoice later when she figured out how to replace the money Ulla had been sending, since now, Ulla no longer needed to write.


	39. My brother will sacrifice your sister if it means rescuing the Pearls of Orlov.

As the hours passed, Fen could feel his own tensions ease while he watched anxiety drain from Lannie. Suggesting a postcard to her brother had been an inspired idea. She seemed easier, as though a burden had been lifted. She still didn’t talk like she had before the thief had frightened her so badly, but she was …. happier was the only word.

Maybe she was happy enough to answer a few questions about why she was so desperate to go to Northernmost. Northernmost! What a waste for someone as sweet as Lannie to go to that permanently frozen polar city of domes and tunnels, a city built on the man-killing labor at the Icicle Works, the Nitrogen Factory, and the Magnetrons, when she could come with him to HighTower. She’d be appreciated and valued at HighTower.

She would be loved.

Maybe not by him, but by someone, but only if he could persuade her to come home with him. It was the right thing to do, for her and for HighTower, but the idea of someone else loving her made his heart constrict. No one his family introduced him to would be as brave and uncomplaining as Lannie. It didn’t matter how big her dowry was and how badly HighTower needed the money. That future bride wouldn’t be Lannie with her big brown eyes and lustrous dark hair and her shy smile that lit up her face and his heart.

* * *

With each step away from the waystation post office, Lannie felt more at ease. No matter what happened next, Charlton knew what daddy was doing to mama. He would fix the problem somehow, most likely by throwing the tisanes out, followed by throwing daddy out, and probably Mistress Vaughn as well. Mistress Vaughn was the only medic the village had, she was highly skilled, and honestly, she wouldn’t have poisoned mama if daddy hadn’t talked her into it, but even so, she was smart enough to know better. Damn daddy anyways for lying to Mistress Vaughn as well as to everyone else. If the pearl earrings made it through the postal system, Charlton would have some money to take mama to the Great Hospital.

Charlton cared deeply about mama. Would he spare a thought for her, trudging along to somewhere else? He had no idea where she was. Would mama care? Would any of her relatives care, either DelFino or Ranaglia, after she had so publicly shamed them and Orlov as well? Or her friends?

She didn’t realize she sighed until Fen said, “something upsetting you again, Lannie?”

Gleesh, but he paid attention to her moods. Like she mattered to him.

“Not really,” she said, choosing an answer that wasn’t a lie. “Just my feet itching and I can’t scratch them.”

“Your family will be real pleased you wrote so they know you’re alive.”

“I suppose,” Lannie said. Who would care besides mama and would mama even understand what had happened after drinking those brain-damaging poisoned tisanes? Maybe Shondra but Shondra had her own troubles and her best friend wouldn’t ever know she’d disappeared in the first place. No one would waste time telling Shondra.

“They care very much, Lannie,” Fen said positively. “They may not always say so, and they might be really bad at words, but they care. You disappearing left a hole in their hearts. That postcard filled up a bit of the hole. I got plenty of postcards so you can send another one at the next mailbox we pass. If you want.”

Lannie stared over Coppertail’s head at the busy road ahead. Like it had been since she’d seen it from the train window when traveling to Barsoom, the road was crowded with all kinds of people and no one seemed to be traveling alone. Everyone had someone and some people looked to have not just all their relatives but their household goods with them too, piled high in wagons. Who did she have? Her relatives had been all in favor of her marrying Rastislav. All they said was ‘don’t worry’ as if her fears weren’t real and her terrors didn’t matter in the least. Her friends had been more supportive but they had stood idly by. She couldn’t fault Shondra, though, for not racing to her rescue. Shondra was hanging on by her fingernails and if she’d married Rastislav, she might have been able to send Shondra more money.

“I been thinking about your feet, Lannie,” Fen said when she didn’t respond, just kept staring off into space while she looked lost and alone. Her eyes were suspiciously bright with what he thought were unshed tears. She hadn’t wanted to run away, proving again how desperate she was to escape DelFino.

“They’re healing up nicely. We’ll come to a town soon, one big enough that I can buy you a pair of boots, yeah?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I do. If I want to get you to Darnay before fall.”

“Oh. Darnay can’t be that far.”

He waved a hand. “It’s not. Depends on what happens. Bad weather, bandits, sickness. Walking takes forever compared to riding. I rode down and I made good time but as we get further north, the weather might turn on us. I don’t know what traveling in a bad summer storm would be like here on the Pole-To-Pole road. In HighTower, a bad storm can be terrible. Spook the herds, strip the land bare, flash floods in the low spots and even a horse as good as Coppertail can’t outrun a flash flood.”

He realized what he was saying, winced, and added “but that’s really rare. I’m being cautious.”

“Oh.” Gleesh, Lannie thought. He sounded cautious to the extreme. A flood that a horse couldn’t outrun?

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Fen said reassuringly. “I’ll always find shelter for us first.”

“I sure you will. It should be easy,” Lannie said and started giggling, thinking of the last time there had been flooding back home. It had rained for days and the drainage ditches filled up slowly and the ponds filled up slowly and the low, marshy areas filled up even more slowly because they were giant sponges for slimy water. You could walk away from floodwaters and they never got very deep and they showed up where they always showed up and everyone knew where the water would go, which was why no one put would erect a building in certain locations. He was exaggerating to make her laugh.

She laughed, Fen thought. She thought he was kidding and he wasn’t but if he wanted to get her to HighTower, then he needed to be more careful. Not lie, naturally, but he needed to talk more about the good points as well as not exaggerate the dangers.

What he really needed to do was get Lannie a horse of her own although how he would manage that with no money was a good question. He wouldn’t steal someone else’s transportation and that left few options. Without a horse for Lannie, the journey would take forever and they were far more vulnerable to storms and bandits like the ones who had poisoned Krangland’s well.

“When it was raining at home, I stayed indoors. There was always plenty to do,” Lannie said, remembering.

Arguing with Charlton. Discussing flowers and fine needlework and color with mama. Charades and plays and games with daddy. Reading in the library. And Gods save her, learning all about household maintenance from Ulla after her cousin’s arrival. She wanted to cringe when she thought of how neglected the manor house was because neither she nor mama bothered themselves over housekeeping and the housekeeper and the maids knew it. Did Ulla care that she’d run away? Zachery probably did but only because she’d embarrassed the demesne. Did Walter? Charlton wouldn’t have anyone to fight with or encourage to keep trying.

Daddy didn’t care about anyone but himself.

Everyone at Orlov cared, but only because she’d stolen the Pearls.

Lannie glanced over at Fen striding along, Coppertail’s reins in one hand. He cared and it was becoming plain how much he cared about her. He didn’t know who she was or what she had done. He thought she was some runaway street girl or a housemaid. Yet he cared enough to make a joke about bad weather.

What did she want to do?

It felt like burdens were lifting themselves. Her feet still itched — sometimes maddeningly — as they healed but it was bearable compared to the previous agony. She wasn’t exhausted. She had a full tummy even if it was full of mil-rats. No one knew where she was so they couldn’t hunt her down over the Pearls. She had warned Charlton about what daddy was doing and sent him, if the postal service was reliable, earrings to sell to help mama and, perhaps, some of the peasants on the estate. Charlton was always carrying on about having over a hundred people depending on him and selling the pearl earrings would let him fulfill those obligations.

She would have never given a moment’s thought to those obligations if Ulla hadn’t spent so much time teaching her the duties a daimyah owed to her demesne. Until she ran away with Fen, she’d never once considered how it felt to go hungry, to sleep outside in the rain because she had no better refuge, to be afraid all the time.

She considered Fen again. She didn’t feel afraid with Fen. He hated thieves, though. He hated DelFino and Orlov. He cared about her. Would he continue to do so if he knew she was Yilanda DelFino who had stolen the Pearls of Orlov?

What should she do?

She considered the possibility of Ranaglia again. Mama was from there. They’d visited often. She wasn’t a stranger. But Ranaglia wouldn’t want to anger DelFino. They might not care much about Orlov, but Orlov was an important equator demesne so she couldn’t say for sure. They might not take her in without the Pearls of Orlov as a bribe. But since no one knew where she was, her relatives in Ranaglia could grab the Pearls and throw her back out to the wolves. They could claim ignorance of her existence. They had no reason to keep her alive, not if it meant what she stole becoming the Pearls of Ranaglia. Everyone who saw the Pearls wanted them. _She_ wanted them. It was why she’d stolen them. The daimyo of Ranaglia, despite being a relative, would feel the same.

She wouldn’t go to Ranaglia.

Fen had sworn he would get her as far as Darnay. At that point, he had to turn eastward to go home to HighTower.

If she paid him with a few of the Pearls, she might talk him into getting her to Northernmost. HighTower needed money. Although, why did he care so much about the demesne’s wellbeing? He was just another peasant. Wasn’t he? She glanced over at Fen again, striding alongside with Coppertail’s reins in his hand.

Maybe he wasn’t.

His beautifully embroidered wool shirt, the one he’d sacrificed to wash her feet with, was much nicer than a DelFino peasant’s festival best. He knew what the word ‘sepsis’ meant. He owned Coppertail, a very fine gelding. A horse as outstanding as Coppertail didn’t come cheap. Even she knew that. Nor did Coppertail’s saddle, bridle, blankets, saddlebags, and all his other tack.

Who was Fen? She didn’t even know his family name, only that he came from HighTower. He might be a trusted, lower-caste relative with a fine horse like Coppertail. That would make sense. DelFino had many lower tier cadet branches who did much of the day-to-day work running the demesne. Not every member of the family was like hers, owning and controlling hereditary land. Zachery himself, despite being the daimyo, didn’t control land. Walter would never inherit estates with a village full of peasants to work his fields. Unlike Charlton, Walter had to find a job within the family’s governing structure.

If he was a low-caste member of the ruling family, Fen would want to climb higher in its power structure. Anyone with ambition would. Putting coin into a demesne’s coffers via some sold pearls would be one way to rise in the world.

He was obviously trusted to go to Barsoom and come back home all on his own. That proved he was skilled and reliable, over and above what she’d witnessed with her own eyes.

He could take her to Northernmost and help her find her feet before he left her to return home to HighTower.

She’d be alone in Northernmost.

Lannie paused. Why did she want to go to Northernmost? She knew no one there. Its sole advantage (besides not being hot) was that no one from DelFino or Orlov would ever look for her there. No one would look for her in Northernmost and if anyone there discovered she was carrying around the Pearls of Orlov, she’d end up dead in some snowbank and the Pearls would vanish permanently.

The idea of losing the Pearls ate at her. They were so, so beautiful. Clouds lit from behind by the sun, swans gliding across lakes, starlight and moonlight glimmering on the snow at Ranaglia. When Rastislav draped her with them, she hadn’t been able to move. Her body and mind had been at war; wanting to flee and wanting to wear the Pearls of Orlov forever.

Perhaps going to Northernmost wasn’t the best idea. She considered what it would be like to find a place to live when she knew nothing about the city, how she would pay for said place with no money, and how she could safely sell some of the Pearls without getting murdered. Would a jeweler murder her over a few pearls? Maybe not, but did she want to take the risk? Pearls were all she had to sell because she wasn’t going to sell herself, like Winnie and Tevy did. The thought made her cringe, thinking of Rastislav again; his sour breath, his thick, gross fingers poking at her flesh, the lewd, awful things he’d whispered to her as he slid the earring wires through her earlobes. Girls like Winnie and Tevy didn’t get to say no. They met strange men in filthy alleys and took their chances.

She could not sell her body.

Moreover, no one in Northernmost knew or cared that she was Yilanda DelFino. The DelFino name meant nothing in Northernmost as opposed to Barsoom where it meant everything. In Barsoom, as a DelFino, she automatically had some status and protection, as long as whoever she was speaking with didn’t know about the Pearls.

“Sunset will be coming on,” Fen said, breaking into her reverie.

“Should we find a campsite?” Lannie asked.

He beamed at her as though she’d given him a pearl bracelet.

She’s talking to me, Fen thought. Lannie is starting to feel safe again.

“I’ve been thinking that, yeah,” he replied. “Don’t want to get caught out in the dark again.”

He always knew what to do. She needed to learn, just like she had needed to learn from Ulla. “Could you tell me how you choose a site?” Lannie asked.

He smiled even more broadly, as though she’d tossed him a pearl necklace to go with the bracelet.

“It would be my pleasure. You got to know what to do out on the steppes, Lannie,” Fen said earnestly. “Steppes don’t care if you live or die. Either way, you’re part of life. But when you get to know the steppes, you get to understand how beautiful they are. They will speak to you but you got to learn how to understand what they say.” Dawud and Kavan had given him the identical speech in the first hour on his first day on the trek from HighTower and they’d been correct.

“And choosing a campsite is part of that?” Lannie asked after a moment’s thought. She wouldn’t have believed Fen had that little touch of poetry in his soul. He was so practical.

“Sure is. We don’t want a spot so good that other people will want it too. We don’t want to be near a fox’s den or some other animal that will fight us over the space. None of those huge ant nests. We want a place that will stay mostly dry if it rains, has protection from the wind, is isolated so we won’t be noticed, and water would be a huge bonus. Water from the waystation tanks is all well and good but it’s not got the taste like a rippling brook does.”

Probably doesn’t have the bugs in it that a rippling brook does either, Lannie thought. Or fish peeing in it. On the other hand, who knew when was the last time those waystation water tanks had been drained, scrubbed clean of algae, bleached, and refilled with fresh, clean, hopefully boiled water. Ulla, she reflected, really had opened her eyes and now Fen was too. Walter would agree; if someone has something to teach, learn it. Charlton, too, trying to teach her to never give up would want her to learn how to survive.

“You said it will take a long time to get to Darnay. I’d like to learn as much as I can during the trip.”

Fen’s heart leapt. She was talking. She was smiling at him. The better he showed her how to live on the steppes, the better his chances of talking her into coming to HighTower with him instead of going to Northernmost. They would have time together.

Before someone else at HighTower snatched her up and his family found him a bride of their choice. He’d still get to see Lannie every day, even if she was with someone else. They could be friends. His heart would get over losing Lannie to someone else when the alternative was Northernmost where she wouldn’t live through her first week.

Fen, Lannie couldn’t help but notice, was smiling up at her as though she was the most important person on Mars. Traveling to Darnay would give her plenty of time to get to know Fen better, learn how to take care of herself, and as they got to know each other, she might be able to reveal a bit of who she really was. She didn’t want to deceive him, not when he’d been completely honest about himself.

Perhaps he would forgive her lies as he got to know her better. He’d understand her reasons, how trapped and terrified she was. How the Pearls of Orlov compelled her to steal them when she’d have been safer if she’d left them behind. A new thought struck like a thrown brick.

Why didn’t she go with Fen to HighTower?

Even more than Northernmost, no one from DelFino or Orlov knew it existed and they’d never look for her there. And she wouldn’t be alone. She’d have Fen to show her the ropes, introduce her to the people who lived there, keep her safe, talk to her, be her friend.

He cared. Capable, competent Fen cared about her and realizing that made her heart sing the way the Pearls did. She wouldn’t have to reveal the existence of the Pearls of Orlov, or maybe only a tiny portion of them; just enough to persuade HighTower to allow her to buy her way in. Fen would know who to talk to over the arrangements.

She had time; all the time it took to travel to Darnay to learn about HighTower and learn all about Fen and could he be trusted with her secrets.

It would be better, though, to not bring up the Pearls or DelFino. Just in case something happened and she couldn’t go to HighTower.

Fen watched Lannie’s face change, the flickering expressions showing how hard she was thinking. It was a long way to Darnay and if he didn’t get Lannie a horse, it would take even longer. There would be plenty of time to persuade Lannie to come to HighTower and if he didn’t succeed, she’d still be better able to take care of herself than she had been when she’d met him at the livery stable, a genuine damsel in distress, and tearfully begged for help.

* * *

“Ranaglia,” Charlton said for the fifth time that evening. The map of the northern hemisphere of the settled side of Mars was spread out on the library table. “Lannie has to be going to Ranaglia.”

“That seems most likely,” Iolanthe agreed. “And yet, I wonder what we’re missing. Based on the postmark, Lannie couldn’t have walked to Merreth after she escaped the cathedral yet if she’d had a horse, she would have been there days earlier.”

“Maybe she caught a lift from someone heading north,” Charlton said. “When they turned off somewhere, she kept walking north.”

“True,” Iolanthe said. “But she can’t walk very far in those high-heeled sandals you described. No one can.”

Charlton had described his glimpse of Lannie’s shoes in the carriage to the cathedral and Iolanthe mentally corrected what he said to what she knew was currently fashionable and would have been sold to Walter along with the flashy gown he’d purchased. Lannie had changed clothes, that was certain; most likely to a coverall. They were ubiquitous and one may have been hiding in the closet in the cathedral chapel. It wouldn’t matter if the coverall was too big. Excess fabric could be rolled up at the ankles and wrists. Properly fitted walking shoes, however, would not have been hiding in the back of a cathedral closet.

Who had Lannie met? Did that person have anything to do with how she’d gotten rid of the flashy yellow and green ball gown? She could not have gotten to Merreth on her own. If she’d been on the train, the postmark would have reflected that fact and she wouldn’t have gotten off in Merreth in the first place.

Iolanthe traced her finger along the Pole-To-Pole corridor road from Barsoom to Merreth to Ranaglia again. It was a long, long way. Ranaglia was as far north as you could get in the Northern Agricultural Zone. After that, the horse lords held sway in the Ennaretee. She didn’t write to anyone in that geographic area. She’d have to reach out to her penpal network. Someone had a distant cousin or a friend who lived in the Ennagzee or even possibly the Ennaretee, just north of Ranaglia, who could keep an ear out for news of Lannie. Ulla might have a penpal there as well. She’d have to write to Ulla at once and ask. Iolanthe didn’t realize she’d said Ulla’s name out loud but Charlton responded anyway.

“Ulla will find her and bring her home,” Charlton said confidently. “She’s probably already on her way.”

“Yes, she won’t hesitate. However, she’ll have to beat Dimitri to Merreth,” Iolanthe said thoughtfully. “My brother will sacrifice your sister if it means he can rescue the Pearls of Orlov.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join us for my next book in The Steppes of Mars series:
> 
> Escape to HighTower
> 
> Where we continue the story of Lannie, Fen, Iolanthe, Charlton, Dimitri and Ulla and learn the fate of the Pearls of Orlov.  
> What Lannie did will have repercussions for generations to come.
> 
> Chapter one of Escape to HighTower will be posted next week on Sunday, 27 September 2020:  
> “I have a confession to make. Please don’t be angry.”


End file.
